


The Deity's Bottles

by the_writing_heron



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Anxiety, Deity Merlin, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Merthur-Freeform, Nightmares, No Sex, Physical Abuse, Poisoning, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_writing_heron/pseuds/the_writing_heron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NOTE: I have changed usernames. I am now the-writing-heron. Please contact me there if you wish to speak to me!</p><p>Arthur Pendragon is a teenage boy who is an anomaly in his world. He is one of the few who ever displays Warm Emotions; he is one of the few who can love, one of the few who can cry. But in a world where only Cold Emotions reign, crying and loving is the sign of an outcast.<br/>Anguished that he is shunned, Arthur turns to a bedtime story, a story of a band of Deities in the Forest of Ascetir, Deities who are not afraid to love or to cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tales from Outside

"Tell me again of the Deities, Father!"

" _Really,_ Arthur, if I did not know you any better, I would think you were _enjoying_ these tales,"

"Oh no, Father! I'm really not...but...just one more time, please?"

And so, Uther Pendragon sat down in his hard, wooden chair, his son Arthur on the floor at his feet, and began to tell the Tale of the Deities. The boy listened with wide eyes, mouth agape.

"There is a tale that far in the North in the Forest of Ascetir lives a band of Deities, born of the flames and the screams, of the suffering and the touch of death. Deities are to be feared, to be avoided. They are everything we are not, they stand by every rule that we outlaw, they use words that we use as curses. They inhabit the forests and streams, the mountains and the sky.

“They are different from us in every way. We cannot live among them, for they would destroy us. We are like opposing forces of a magnet. The thought of trying to unite, to find a common ground is as repulsive as pushing the same sides of the magnet together.

“They are unclean, and rough in their ways, whereas we are not. We are civilized; they are barbaric; They are outdated and different, whereas we are not. They are purveyors of  _Warm Emotions."_

Young Arthur scratched his chin, thinking of forests, streams, and mountains. He wondered what they were. But he only voiced one of his nagging thoughts. "Father...what do you suppose Warm Emotions are like?" he asked slowly.

Uther looked down his nose at his young son, his eyes empty of anything but disgust. "How am I to know, boy? The very thought of Warm Emotions makes me sick!" He shuddered, his face twitching unpleasantly.

"Sorry. Please go on, Father."

Uther hissed, but continued. "As you know, my boy, Warm Emotions are evil. It was they that caused our city's downfall, long before they were outlawed.  Some people thought it could never be done; how can you outlaw emotions, they asked! But through time, those vile _feelings_ were weeded out of our people. All of the _love_ and _joy._ Are we not better the way we are now, my son?"

"Yes, Father," Arthur whispered, shivering as his father cursed. Joy and happiness were words never spoken in the Pendragon household. He didn’t look at his father as he continued.

"What a man needs in life, my boy, is intelligence. He needs respect, he needs to be unafraid. He needs to be cool, and calculated. He needs to be uninhibited by such emotions as doubt and fear. None of this anxiety and caring! None of this compassion and empathy! None of this hope, this peace, this love! When is there ever a need for that?"

 Arthur had never heard his father swear so vehemently. It was unusual. His nerves tingled under his skin, and he could not face his father directly.

"But why did they get rid of Warm Emotions?" he dared to ask.

"I told you, Arthur. Warm Emotions are sin." growled Uther.

"But _why?_ "

"Do not ask me why! It is just the way these things are! Soon, you will learn to utilize your Cold Emotions. All that you are feeling now, this vileness you display in my presence, it will soon be gone. Soon, you will no longer question they way this land is run. You will use your knowledge and your doubtlessness to your advantage."

"But Father, why-"

"ENOUGH! Your curiosity is making my skin crawl."

"Sorry, Father."

 Uther rubbed his eyes, looking at Arthur like he was a difficult math problem. He shook his head wearily.

"You will go to bed, and you will not think about these Deities and their Warm Emotions any longer. Do you hear?"

"Yes, Father."

But Arthur did not obey his father. Lying on his bed with his eyes closed, he dreamed of the Deities, and in his dreams he felt Warm Emotions. In his dreams, he was alive.

 

* * *

 

 The world that Arthur lived in was a harsh one. To them, the inhabitants, love and happiness are otherworldly. They do not know the joys of reading a novel. They do not know the peaceful feeling of watching the sun sink beneath the horizon like a child crawling beneath a blanket. They do not know the emotions that are felt during a hug. They do not know the overwhelming affection felt when lovers share a kiss. They do not even know what it was like to enjoy a touch. They never cry over sad movies, they never mourn their dead once they pass. They could never experience the laziness and contentment of the period just after a good meal. They do not experience friendship, they do not experience love, they do not experience happiness. They never wonder why the sky is blue, they never bother to question why the sun's rays are warm, and they never, ever dream. For these were the Warm Emotions, and Warm Emotions were banned.

Love, happiness, empathy, peace, hope, joy, curiosity, emotions that few could not bear to think to live without these people lived without. They could hardly be considered people. All they cared about was how much money they made, how much physical satisfaction they received during sex, or how much respect they could gain. They never gave to charity, for there was no charity. They never felt the need to know their partners, and they never once respected those who were even slightly worthy of disrespect.   

And yet, they still managed to produce the few who were born with Warm Emotions. Warm Emotions could never be genetically weeded out of them, try as they might. They are merely silenced until the very end of the life cycle, for it is the elderly of these people who find themselves at peace. It is why the death rate among the elderly are so high. Those who couldn't bear these new emotions ended their lives, and those who were unwilling to give up the new feelings coursing within them were silenced.

But Arthur was a question that had rarely been posed before. As a child, he always showed signs of Warm Emotions, and as he grew older, his parents hoped they could nip his notions in the bud. For a while, it seemed that their severe rules and ways had worked. He was like a dream child, but of course they did not know that because they could not dream. But as Arthur grew older, the numbness that concealed his emotions began to wear off, and he found himself awake at nights, wondering why his eyes were leaking saltwater, and why he felt so hot and broken inside...

 


	2. Curfew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is naïve when he thinks he will never be caught Outside after Curfew.  
> Also the dork is scared of a thunderstorm.   
> To summarize, bad shit is about to occur.

Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder. There was no one in sight. Pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, he walked down the alley, the only shadow to pierce the light. His shadow was alone amongst the chilling wind and the streetlamps. His footsteps echoed in the stark white canyon around him. His eyes darted around, on the lookout for another shadow. It was past curfew, as the dark layer of smog that stood black against the city lights told him. The Patrol was going around; he could hear the mechanical rumblings of their jeeps and the empty barks of their scouts. But he had covered his tracks well. They would not find him, and he would be able to slip back Inside unnoticed if there was a time they picked up his trail.

Pressing himself against a parked automobile, he stared blankly as the wall before him lit up in the Patrol's searchlight. His shadow pressed up close to him, the Patrol went on, never once suspecting that a sixteen year old blonde boy was crouched behind a car in an alleyway. Night after night they missed him, and night after night he went Outside.

It was a feeling of satisfaction coursing through him as he shied away from security cameras, and slipped through a ‘staff only’ exit. Stealing his own staff card was easy enough; he need only pickpocket a Patrol member. Catching a Patrolman unawares was a simple enough task, but rendering him unconscious long enough for you to get your treasure and flee was another matter.

He had accomplished it by smothering a Patrolman with the palms of his strong hands, slightly asphyxiating him. Pocketing his card, Arthur had fled. The Patrolman, having no imagination and no brains, assumed that he had lost his card and got a new one. Never once did he wonder why his mouth hurt so much, for he did not know what pain was.

The first time Arthur went Outside, his eyes had begun to leak. Wiping off his cheeks and finding them wet had confused him to no end. Father had often told him about _crying,_ which was when a person felt _sad_ and leaked saltwater through their eyes. Licking his fingers, he had nearly lost consciousness when his tongue recoiled at the salty taste. Rubbing his eyes furiously, he concluded that he had a bit of dust in his eye, for he no longer felt wetness rolling down his cheeks. He was too distracted. Outside was far too distracting _._

He had never seen such a wide, desolate space. He always thought the alleys were cavernous and wide. When he staggered back Inside, he realized how closeted he really was. He realized how thick the air was, how bright the lights were. Outside, the air was...what word could he use? _Clean._ He could see far into the distance, and in that distance there was a light. It was so colorful, and so different. It was mesmerizing. What _was_ it? Father had talked about a sun, but he never said the sun buried itself into the distance!

And so, every night he could, Arthur snuck Outside to watch the sun bury itself into the Earth, vowing that one day he would find where it went each night.

 

* * *

 

Several years had passed since Arthur begged his father to tell him the Tale of the Deities. He had been a child. Now, he was a young man of sixteen. And for many years, he no longer felt the need to hear the Tale again. He knew of the Deities and their Warm Emotions, and he knew that having an affinity for Warm Emotions and anything to do with them would lead him to trouble. So he kept his head low, always doing what he was asked, never knowing that the emotions deep within him were waking up.

Arthur never knew that when he was a child he showed signs of being a mutant. He thought it was natural to be curious about the Deities. He never knew that what he experienced during his sleep never happened to anyone else. He never knew that other people slept soundly and dreamlessly, and when he told his Mother and saw her expression, he grew worried. And that was alarming. Worry was a Warm Emotion. Imagine feeling an emotion you had no name for! But that was the struggle Arthur went through, a deep pain that was not really pain clawing his insides.

Imagine having a heart in a land where the people were heartless. Imagine laying awake at night wondering whether you were going blind or not because you were the only person who could actually cry. Imagine being happy and not knowing what happiness was. Imagine realizing that something was wrong but realizing you had no power to do anything about it. Imagine the feeling of depravation one felt when one was being screamed at. Imagine feeling broken, imagine being unable to decide whether to tell anyone or to hide. Imagine not knowing what doubt was, what fear was. Imagine being Arthur Pendragon, and you could imagine all of these, and more.

"What are you doing, Arthur?"

Arthur had been ready to sneak out of his window to go Outside, but this small voice had stopped him. Whipping around, he saw his little sister, Morgana. She was dressed in her nightclothes, clutching the hems of her sleeves.  She was young, her Warm Emotions not yet completely smothered. She had stopped laughing long ago, and she never smiled anymore. However, she still was indecisive and flighty. Arthur did not know it, but she still had her senses of doubt, worry, and curiosity.

A child of her age would have to go and get Corrected if she didn't stop showing Warm Emotions. Arthur himself had to go and get Corrected, though he didn't know exactly what that meant. All he knew was that one morning he woke to a muffled headache and a shaved patch on his head, and when he touched the patch, he felt a scar.

Arthur was at a loss for words. His right foot was already out of the window. If Morgana went and told everyone that Arthur was going out after curfew, he would be in huge trouble. To be caught out after curfew instantly made the officials nervous; why would a perfectly Cold boy want to go out after curfew? He would have no reason to. The only reason why he would leave is because he was not as Cold as he appeared…

“I’m…Uh...Morgana, aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” He stuttered.

She nodded numbly, her eyes shining dully in the light of a searching Patrol. Arthur quickly drew his foot back inside.

“Then you should go back to bed, and not question your elders. Do you understand, sister?” He snapped coldly, sounding just like his father.

Without another word, Morgana turned around, walked out, and quietly closed the door. Arthur grinned. That was the advantage of having a Cold for a little sister; she never once questioned his motives.

Bounding softly off the bed, Arthur pressed his ear to the door, closing his eyes as he listened to her muffled, receding footsteps. Satisfied when he heard the click of her door shutting, he assured himself that no one could interrupt him by locking everyone out. The mechanical click of a lock and the sound of a window opening followed Arthur out of the house.

His shirt riding up his back as he slid out the window, he glanced about for the Patrol. They had passed once when he was talking to Morgana; he had a matter of seconds before they caught him. Already he could hear the growling of their engines. He dove behind a waste bin, his skin tingling.

With bated breath, he watched as a scout walked right past his hiding place. Luckily, the Patrol light cast a shadow over him. Pressing himself in the tightest ball he could so that he could fit in the shadow, he watched as the scout turned and shouted the all clear. He silently breathed out as the jeep moved on.

Stealthier than a snake, he went Outside.

He had found himself a little nook to sit in. It was more comfortable than sitting on the ground. It was a notch in the vast concrete walls that kept things out of the City. Or was it meant to actually keep people in? He was always told that it was to ensure nothing dangerous ever entered the City, but after adding up the hours of being Outside, Arthur found not one sign of dangerous life, or any moving life for that matter.

The nook was large enough for him to draw his knees up to his chest and lounge semi-comfortably. Sighing, he let his head lean back on the cool concrete. Closing his eyes, he allowed his lungs to soak in the smog-less air. It felt like the high of alcohol, breathing this air. Every cell in his body seemed alive. But to be drunk on alcohol was degrading and frowned upon. To be drunk on air, however, was something noble, something worth respect. Open mouthed, he breathed slowly and methodically.

And then that unusual feeling stole over him. It was like cool water was soaking through his body to the very bone. It was like satisfaction, or the feeling one got when one was respected…but he had no name for it. The first time he felt it he had started to sweat, his breathing hitched and his skin tingling. His hairs had stood on end; how would Father react to him feeling this way? He knew that what he was feeling was a Warm Emotion, for indeed the pit of his stomach seemed to heat up, but not in a bad way.

But then he had realized that Father could not get him out here. No one could get him out here. He was the only one who knew of this nook, he was the only one in the City who knew what the sun setting looked like. He was the only one who felt the sun’s dying rays on his skin, uninhibited by the dome that covered the top of the City. He was the only one who knew what true, wild grass looked like. He was the only one who sneezed when actual dirt entered his sinuses. He was the only one who breathed fresh air. He was the only one who was alive.

Opening his eyes reluctantly, he gazed out into the sky. It was cloudy this evening. He couldn’t see the sun, and he was troubled by this. But the clouds swirled above him in interesting patterns. Were they smog clouds? No, they behaved differently. Staring up at them with a craned neck, he watched as they towered higher in the air and got darker and darker.

Arthur squinted. Were there flashing lights in those clouds? Surely there were no Patrols in the _sky?_ There couldn’t be! The Patrol never came Outside. They had no reason to. Arthur stared, skin beginning to prickle once more.

Suddenly, the cloud seemed to extend to the ground. He couldn’t see far into the distance. The air smelled different, like a dusty wetness. A cool breeze began to stir his hair, his shirt fluttering like eyelashes.

 _Whoosh!_ With a grunt of surprise, Arthur leapt up. There was water, falling from the sky! It was like a hose that the city used to water the plants was being held from the heavens. Mind scrambling as much as his body, Arthur tried to find a word for it. Never once had Father talked of water from the sky.

He covered a lot of ground in a few bounding footsteps. His blood began to surge around his body as a blinding flash of light lit up his sight, soon followed by a huge growl, like a dog was next to the hose in the sky and growling at it.

Hastily swiping his staff card, Arthur leapt back Inside, drenched.

And he stared right into the face of a Patrol scout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter Two already! I think I'll post one more before going to bed. I hope you enjoy it, and laugh when Arthur is terrified by a thunderstorm.


	3. Locked Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur finds himself locked in a strange room with only his woozy thoughts. The question is: does he or does he not regret going Outside?

The thing about Patrolmen is what they lack in observational skills they make up in _action._ The scout who had found Arthur as he came Inside had called for backup, whipped out his own gun, and loaded it, all within a few seconds. Shouts came from every direction, and just as Arthur was about to flee, light filled his eyes, and he couldn’t see. Every time he blinked, the ghost of several headlights and a searchlight lit up on the back of his eyelids. Grunting, he pawed at his eyes, staggering around.

It was clever psychology, really. To leave a captive in the shadows gave them the security of being hard to see; blinding them, and leaving them nowhere to run made them feel small and confined. And that was exactly how Arthur felt, dripping water, eyes throbbing with the light, his cleaned lungs choking on the foul air everyone else was so used to breathing.

The shouts were beginning to overwhelm him. He was chilled to the bone, and he was having difficulty breathing and seeing. Crying out, he felt a strange pricking and dragging sensation in his neck, and a momentary pain. His vision reeled, and he began to feel numb in his limbs.

He collapsed, a tranquilizer dart sticking out of the base of his neck.

The other thing about Patrolmen?

They never miss.

 

* * *

 

Arthur awoke with the blood pounding uncomfortably in his head; he had a headache, a really bad one. His sight came back online after he became conscious. He was awake, but he could not see, the sights before him merely spinning, white blurs. His throat was dry, though his skin was wet. His clothes were no longer dripping wet. He felt sores on his legs when he moved. All over he ached, his joints hurting the most. Just moving his neck made him cry out softly in pain, yes pain. This had to be what pain was.

Impatiently, he waited for his vision to clear. Lying perfectly still and trying to regulate his breathing, his eyes refocused.

He was in a grey room. It was the same concrete as his nook. Oh, how he wished he was there now! Why did he have to run Inside? Why didn’t he make sure he timed his return as he normally did? Why had he been afraid of some water and some light? He groaned.

He tried to get up. He couldn’t; he was locked firmly to a steel chair, his wrists and ankles cuffed firmly to the legs and arms of the chair. A thick, metal band locked his torso in place, and a band around his forehead kept his head firmly in place. That must be why his head hurt so much. Eyes rolling in their sockets, he tried to figure out where he could possibly be. He could not speak either; a cloth gag was tied firmly in his mouth. A bitter taste resided in the back of his throat, and his tongue ached from some water.

The room was empty besides him. There were no windows, and no doors. Well, not in his line of vision. Perhaps there were some behind him. Blinking hard, he squinted at the far wall. No, there was a door; he could see the outline of a doorframe, and a little slot where one put their security card.

Moments later, the outline became a whole door, opening from the other side. His skin began to tingle wildly, his eyes rolling about more and more frantically. He felt saliva soak into the gag. His fingers shook.

A man he did not recognize walked in, followed closely by another. They were dressed in black suits, the Patrol insignia scrawled on their breast pockets. One was white and had curly brown hair and a beard. The other was black and had a shaved head. They were officials, and when Arthur saw them he wanted to leave very badly.

“He is awake!” The black man said, watching the white man as he walked behind Arthur.

He felt the gag loosen in his mouth, and soon he was guzzling air like a dog, tongue out, panting. His eyes rolled back into his head, his mouth making noises of satisfaction. His eyes fluttered closed, and he wriggled in his chair.

The strap on his head was also loosened, and he felt his vertebrae pop as he rolled his neck around, the cracks audible. His head hung to face his lap, tongue lolling, his eyes closed, breathing deeply.

“What are you feeling right now, Arthur Pendragon?”

Not looking up, Arthur shrugged.

“You do not know?”

He was too busy sucking in good, clean oxygen to respond. He could feel the ache in his head dissipating. Now, he focused on the small stabs of discomfort in his base of his neck. What was it from? What had happened?

“What’s wrong with my neck?” He croaked, his throat ragged, as if he had been screaming.

He looked up, and saw the two men looking at him with blank expressions, their arms folded.

“See how he uses contractions?” murmured the man with the shaved head to his colleague. His colleague nodded grimly.

“What did you do to me? What’s going on?” Arthur hissed, staring them in the eyes. They did not blink.

The men’s gazes flickered. “You do not remember?”

“Obviously not, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking, now would I?”

And so, the men told him. Spellbound, Arthur listened. He had been caught coming Inside. That he remembered. Then, he had been shot with a strong tranquilizer dart, causing the soreness of his neck and the wooziness of his consciousness. But even the tranquilizer couldn’t stop him; he had apparently attacked his shooter, screeching so loud that surrounding people had awoken in their homes. That explained why his throat was so sore, his vocal chords chinking with exhaustion as he spoke. It had taken four men, three to hold down his struggling limbs and the fourth to inject another dose of tranquilizer into him to knock him out.

“We also found this security card on you. You stole it, did you not?” One of the men asked, holding up his dirty, stolen card.

Arthur only glowered at the man, saying nothing.

“And you were caught going Outside.” The man with the curls said, squinting at him, “Why would you want to go Outside? Everything you ever need is in here.”

Arthur, who had been staring into his lap as he listened, began to smile as a thought dawned on him. He looked up, his hair in his eyes though he could do nothing about it.

“Not everything I need is in here,” he whispered.

The men stared at him blankly. Their eyes shimmered coldly. They did not move a muscle.

He flipped the hair out of his eyes, baring his teeth in a grin. “Have you ever felt the warmth of the sun?” He asked.

The men were silent.

“ _Well? Have you?”_

The men looked uncomfortable. “…No. We have no reason to.” The black man said quietly.

“Have you ever felt the wind in your hair? The real, cold wind?”

“No. There is no point in that.”

“What about a sunset? Have you ever seen a sunset?” Arthur pressed, his teeth bared in a grin as he watched the men exchange shifty glances.

“ _No!_ This is nonsense, boy! Why would you _want_ to experience these absurd things?!” The man with the curls snapped, eyes flashing.

Arthur threw his head back as far as it could go, and he laughed for the first time in his life. Oh, this feeling coursing through him! It was so Warm, so golden! It flowed through him as if a shining elixir had been poured into his bloodstream Suddenly, he had a word for it: _delight._

“ _Why? Why_ do I do this? Why do I want to feel the sun’s rays, why do I want to feel the wind, why do I want to feel the rain soak my skin?” he felt like a dam was breaking in his mind, and all number of words and understandings hitherto unknown began to flow from his brain to his mouth.

He sighed, and looked those men lazily in the eyes. “It’s so I can feel Warm Emotions,” he hissed, once again feeling delight at the look of incredulity on the men’s faces.

They all looked up as the door opened once more. There stood a huge man with short cut hair. He jerked his head in Arthur’s direction. “His Father is here to see him,”

“So, my Father knows?” Arthur gasped, his throat rattling. The unruly confidence he felt moments before vanished instantly.

The men nodded.

“He has requested to see you,” the man with the curls said.

Arthur’s eyes bulged, a most unpleasant feeling snaking up from his stomach.

“ _No!”_ he screeched, blasting the men with an unexpected increase in volume. Their eyes widened, only mildly.

“He is displaying fear,” the black man whispered, jotting down some notes on a legal pad.

“I can hear you, you know! You _can’t_ let my Father see me! Do you know what he’ll _do_ to me?!” He shrieked, writhing in his chair hopelessly.

Arthur’s vision swam. His head began to throb again, and every scrape and bruise was even more pronounced than before. His throat ached and itched, and he was getting itchy from being so wet. His breaths coming out as arrested grunts, he thrashed, whipping his neck back and forth, screaming all the while.

“My God!” he heard the men exclaim, and he heard the shuffling of their feet. But he couldn’t see them.

And suddenly he knew why they had exclaimed. Tears were streaming down his face as he screamed and screamed and screamed, his body burning with each movement he made. All of the things he had been feeling, all of the new emotions he kept bottled up were exploding out all at once. And he had no name for them.

One of the men strode across the room, securing Arthur’s head with a strong palm, and strapped the band across his head and tied the gag again. To his colleague, he said “Call his Father. And call Boss. We have got a Warm one.”

And soon the room was empty of all life forms except Arthur and his muffled, protesting screeches, screeches that fell upon unfeeling ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER THREEEEEEEE  
> We've already gotten 50+ hits! In a day! Wow! Thank you all so much for your love and support! I plan to post chapters at certain intervals. The fic is complete and lying in wait in the shadows of my Microsoft Word documents, but I don't want to bamboozle you with the gayness of this fic just yet.


	4. Eradication or Banishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's fate is decided.

Arthur could hear his Father before he saw him.

It was only a few minutes after the men had left when he heard Uther Pendragon shout “ _Where is he?!”_

The door burst open like the water had burst from the clouds. All of Arthur’s hairs stood up, shrieking at the sight of him. His bloodshot eyes flew about his wet sockets and he began to squirm wildly beneath the iron grip of the clamps. He bit down on the gag, his heart beating faster and faster in his chest.

_“You insolent, sniveling fool!_ ”

_Smack!_ Arthur’s eyes smarted as his Father struck a blow to his jaw. His already throbbing head began to burn. He let out a muffled scream from behind the gag.

Again and again Uther hit him, and he could do nothing to defend himself but squirm and scream. His head fixed in place, it was dealt all number of blows, each harder than the next. He heard yelling from behind the door. His father bellowed and raged above him, spit flying from his mouth and into Arthur’s eyes. Salty tears and blood drained into Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur could barely see. And for a moment, he felt like his eyes were closed but he didn’t remember closing them. Blinking as his Father’s fists pummeled the flesh around his eyes, he felt his pulse slow down considerably. He felt weak, his limbs shaking all over. Being forced back into consciousness by the relentless punches and scratches of his father, his pulse raced back up again. He could feel drool on his chin, and his sight began to flash white.

_“Stop your crying! STOP IT!”_ Uther screeched, beating Arthur into a senseless pulp.

And suddenly the hail of blows receded as the two officials raced into the room and pulled Uther back. Arthur sobbed quietly, willing himself to pass out, to die.

And for a moment, he got his wish. Strapped to a chair, he barely noticed he had lost consciousness. He lifted his eyelids with difficulty, as if a thousand pounds of weight had been placed on his eyelashes.

“…You say he was already Corrected once?”

“Yes, when he was seven years old.” He recognized his mother’s voice. Blinking, he saw that Uther was no longer in the room. Only Ygraine and Morgana were present. Morgana wasn’t even looking at him. She didn’t seem even slightly concerned for his well being, and tears began to form in his eyes again. Why wouldn’t she look at him?

This time a woman official was taking notes. She was nodding absently as Ygraine talked. “And the Correction worked? At least for a while?”

“Yes. He seemed just like any other boy. How he could have gotten like this, I have no idea…Nothing like his father…I do not know where he learned such emotions…”

Arthur’s eyes began to flutter shut. He sucked on his bleeding lip in an attempt to quench his draining thirst. He fell into a pained doze, snatching tidbits of the conversation every now and then.

“…It is up to you to decide…”

“…Eradication or Banishment…”

“…Investigations…of course…”

“How he managed it…past all the Patrols…it is a wonder…”

“Does he have to leave?”

Arthur jerked awake. The flow of conversation had been between two lulling, female voices. This one was young, and higher pitched. It had come from Morgana. She was hugging her arms to herself, looking at the official with blank eyes.

The official blinked, and looked at Ygraine. “Looks like you will have another Correction in the family soon.”

Rage roared in Arthur’s stomach, but he could do nothing about it. He was too spent, physically and mentally. How _dare_ she say something like that, in front of a _child?_

“I am sorry, but we must either Eradicate him or Banish him. Warm Emotions are not to be tolerated in a boy his age.” The official said to Ygraine, acting like Morgana didn’t exist.

Arthur breathed a laugh. “You don’t know what sorrow is,” he croaked.

They all turned to look at him now. They had been treating him like cupboard; seeing him and not caring about his presence.

“Morgana,” Arthur said, eyes moving to look at his sister, “don’t let them corrupt you.”

Morgana did not say a word. She didn’t have a flicker of acknowledgment on her face. She was expressionless.

Ygraine looked at him, also emotionless. “You are too late, Arthur,” she said, “Morgana is scheduled to get her Correction next week,”

And they resumed their conversation, not once looking at him, not once noticing the tears that once more rolled down his cheeks, his eyes burning.

“I will have to talk to my husband,”

Ygraine, Morgana, and the official left the room, leaving Arthur alone to his tears and his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

That deranged look of sheer anger was the last expression Arthur saw on his Father’s face. His Father was too ‘ashamed’ to see his son again, and wasn’t even there when the officials told him that he was to be Banished. Ygraine said that in the end, it was Morgana who talked them into Banishing him instead of Eradicating him. Arthur wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be feeling; satisfied that he was to be alive, but certainly doomed to die in the elements Outside, or to wish he didn’t have to die at the hand of the Outside, but by lethal injection instead?

He had been sitting in that chair for hours at least, maybe even longer because he wasn’t awake to count the hours when he had passed out. His body was so sore, and his face felt so disproportioned and swollen. He could barely whisper, so thirsty was he.

When he was informed of his Banishment, he was released from the chair. He had stood up swiftly, but immediately gotten so dizzy that he had sank back into the chair, groaning. He had been hauled to his feet by rough, unfeeling hands. And so, he had been lead away to another section of whatever building he was in, his family trailing behind.

Now, they were in another room. Uther had stubbornly refused to even hear his son’s voice again, and stayed far down the hall. Ygraine and Morgana followed the officials into the room. Arthur was tossed unceremoniously onto a wooden bench, his head smacking sickeningly against the concrete wall.

The three officials turned towards the door. Ygraine and Morgana made to follow them, but the woman stopped them.

“Now is the time for you to talk to him. We will get his equipment, and when we return, he will be Banished.”

The door closed, and Morgana and Ygraine stared blankly at it for a few moments before turning to face his broken form.

He didn’t say anything, and they didn’t seem to want to say anything either. Arthur stared at the ceiling, too exhausted to move.

“D’you want some water?”

Arthur lifted his head from the wall with difficulty. Looking down, he saw Morgana standing in front of him, proffering her pink water bottle. He could hear the liquid sloshing around inside of it, and he began to drool.

“Yes, please,” he whispered, and Morgana shook it, the watery contents swilling about merrily.

Arthur snatched it up, and gulped it down, his throat rattling as the water was sucked into his system. He sucked out every last drop, shaking it to catch the remnants stuck to the bottom.

In the past day, he had been drunk on air, and now he was drunk on water. That beautiful substance sloshed through his blood, setting a fire of life inside each and every one of his cells. His tongue no longer felt dry, and there was no longer a bitter taste at the back of his throat. His skin feel cool with a fresh layer of perspiration.

Morgana blinked at him, and he suddenly felt an urgent emotion flow through him. He looked at her hair; he could not bear to think of it shaved away, a ugly gray scar on the side of his head just like his. He could not bear to think of her skull sawed open, sick metal instruments stabbing at her brain, taking away her will, her soul.

“Morgana, do you know what Correction is?” he whispered, for he suddenly understood what Correction was.

“Do no talk to her about that,” Ygraine snapped suddenly. Arthur could feel her stone cold gaze on his head, but he ignored it.

He placed his hands on Morgana’s shoulders. She shrank away, but he gripped them harder. He looked into her soft eyes, wide with curiosity. She shook her head.

Arthur explained. “Correction is when they cut into your brain. It is a terrible surgery of the mind. They cut in and poke around, and they do something to your brain so that you can’t feel Warm Emotions. See?”

He pushed his hair back, and the thick, white scar stood out on his scalp, on the side of his head. It was knobby, and raised like a ridge in the earth. He could feel Morgana staring at it, shivering.

“Stop it right now, Arthur Pendragon!” Ygraine hissed, but she didn’t move any closer to them. Arthur continued as if he couldn’t hear her.

“They cut into your brain, and they take away your life, your will. They take _you_ away, Morgana.” He whispered.

Morgana did not stop looking at him. “…Why?” she whispered, voice shaking. Her eyes began to glow.

Arthur shrugged, truly at a loss for words. “I don’t know, Morgana. Warm Emotions are so…so…”

_“Do not finish that sentence!_ ” Ygraine shrieked. Arthur recoiled at the sound of it. Ygraine sounded like an animal. He had never heard her like that before.

“ _…Wonderful,”_ he concluded, his tongue bumbling around the new word.

A bloodcurdling screech came from Ygraine’s corner. Morgana was forcefully torn away from him; her eyes widened, reaching out for him with her hands. She could not breathe a word. Ygraine dragged her to the door.

“What you’re feeling, Morgana! It’s all natural, it is _apart_ of you! Don’t let them take it away! You must _fight it!”_ He scrambled to his feet, attempting to run after them, but the door only slammed in his face.

He stared at it blankly. His family was gone, without a word of goodbye. Three images implanted themselves in his brain; his Father’s look of rage, his mother’s face twisted in anger, and Morgana’s young eyes glowing with fear, yes, fear.

He was orphaned of everything except for the small, pink water bottle that lay empty and alone in his palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so this chapter has some physical abuse in it, just to let you know. I am under the assumption that all of you have read the tags and would not have read this fic if there was a warning of something triggering.  
> So let me ask you all something.  
> D'you want some water?


	5. Journey to Ascetir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur finds the Outside to not be as friendly as he once assumed.

Sneaking Outside was a lot more different than being forcibly _thrown_ Outside. When Arthur snuck Outside, he knew that there was a warm bed and food to go back to. Now, all he had to look forward to was time spent alone.

So alone.

They took him to a different place Outside than what he was used to. There was no nook to curl up in this time. This time there was only the mud rushing up to greet him as he was tossed outside, and the sound of a door being slammed. Was that the last time he would hear a door slam? Were the words “Do not return,” the last words he would hear again?

He stood up. His body still ached from the assaults of the Patrol and his Father. At least he wasn’t thirsty. He brushed the mud off his clothes, and looked at the small bag that was in his hand. In it were the only objects between him and certain death; a blanket, eight granola bars, and a large thermos of water.

It was noon. The sun was high in the sky, blazing down upon him mercilessly. Arthur had never seen it so high in the sky before. It was silly to assume that the sun was constantly setting. When the sun was setting, it was tolerable. Now, at its zenith, the sun was almost too much to bear. He began to sweat in its rays.

He stared out at the vast expanse of land before him. There was nothing but tall grass and a few trees to be seen. _Trees._ Actual, wild trees. Just looking at them calmed his blood pressure. He wondered what a whole grouping of trees would look like.

A grouping of trees…wasn’t that called a forest?

His eyes lit up. _Forest. Forest of Ascetir._

That was where he had to go. Father had told him the Tale so many times he felt as though he could recite it even in death. ‘ _There is a tale that far in the North in the Forest of Ascetir lives a band of Deities_ … _they are purveyors of Warm Emotions.’_

He smiled, and he tossed his head back in a laugh freely. His barking vocalization of glee went unchecked. No one could scold him now! No one could hurt him for having Warm Emotions! No one could tell him what to feel and what not to feel; it was all up to him.

 _Love, happiness, empathy, peace, hope, joy, curiosity, delight…_ words that were once curse words felt like candy on his tongue. They were his now. All of these emotions, they were his. He didn’t know which emotion was which, but he knew that they existed, and that he was allowed to do with them what he pleased.

A sliver of what he knew to be doubt stole over him. Which way was North? How far away was the Forest of Ascetir? The Tale only said ‘far’. How far was far? Would he be able to survive until then? And what if the Tale was only a Tale, a fictitious story used to keep children in line?

He shouldered the bag. He had to find the Deities. It was the only chance he had. There was no sneaking In anymore; the officials had taken his stolen card away.

Looking at the sun, he remembered that it always rose in the East, and set in the West. He need only find his nook, and face the direction he always looked at the sunset. That direction was West. Then North would be easy to find, and he could be on his way.

And so he began the long trek around the concrete circle that was once his home, scanning the walls for the place he felt the safest, and probably the happiest.

 

* * *

 

Arthur didn’t know how long he spent searching for his nook. He didn’t have a watch; the officials had taken everything away, except for his clothes. But when he finally found the nook, the sun had sank lower in the sky. This was his nook alright; he recognized the path he had beaten from here to the outline of the door he had used to get In and Out of the City. Now, it only kept him Out. What used to be so inviting was now so heartless.

Arthur crawled into the nook, out of the sun. Digging in his bag, he pressed his ear against the wall, hoping to hear some noises of the City. He heard nothing but the wind whistling through the grass. The wind was calming as it blew through his sweaty, dirty hair. To think that only yesterday he was sitting here without a care in the world!

Sighing, he took out a granola bar and unwrapped it. Without even thinking he had eaten the whole thing. Cringing, he stuffed the wrapper back in the bag, and hastily stood up. He had to get going.

Against the breeze, he walked the opposite way of his path. He walked towards the Forest of Ascetir, praying that the Tales were real.

He didn’t speak once as he trudged North. It was easy staying on the right path; He need only makes sure that the sun was in the peripheral vision of his left eye. Sometimes he cast a glance over his shoulder to see how far he had gone. The City barely seemed to get smaller. One time he was sure he had walked for ten minutes, but when he turned, the City looked exactly the same size. The number of glances decreased and decreased the more he felt dejected.

He thought. Where was Morgana now? Had she already forgotten him? Did his family remember him still? Did they care? Probably not, especially Uther. They probably wouldn’t know a caring emotion if it had jumped from behind them and said ‘boo!’. Hell, _he_ still wasn’t sure was a caring emotion was. His face stung sharply as he remembered that Uther had hit him. The blood was dry and chapping on his face as the wind whipped by.

He looked around. There were no other Cities in sight. Only wide, open grassland. There were clouds now, and they occasionally made the sun’s rays more tolerable as they blocked them. But he realized they must not be smog clouds; it didn’t rain in smog clouds. So what were they?

“What are you?” he said aloud, pausing where he stood and staring at them like he honestly expected them to answer back. They didn’t.

Suddenly, it hit him full on; he was free! Really, truly free! No one could scold him for asking questions, no one could scold him for talking aloud. He could do literally _anything_ he pleased! He didn’t have to abide by any laws. He could scream as he wished, he could talk as he pleased, he could cry as much as he wanted.

But he didn’t want to cry. He decided to take a sip of water from the thermos; he had been walking for quite a while now, and there really hadn’t been much water in Morgana’s bottle. Controlling himself, he took two mouthfuls.

The world is constantly occupying itself with balance, so it did not surprise him in the slightest that he soon felt the urge to urinate. But he was uneasy. Where could he go? Awkwardly, he moved to the side and relieved himself. It was unusual. He could even urinate as he pleased. This freedom was both satisfying and strange.

Zippering himself, Arthur was uneasy again. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, and was delighted to see that the City was a mere dot in the distance. Ascetir couldn’t be far now, could it? He looked straight ahead. Nothing but grass, and one lone tree. Hardly a forest.

He walked towards the tree as the sun began to sink lower and lower. His feet swam through the ocean of grass, and he listened to it whisper as the wind whisked through it. He watched his feet disappear and reappear as he walked, lifting his shoes in and out of the thick grass.

He saw his first real tree up close as the sun began to paint the sky brilliant shades of purple and orange. He didn’t know what to think. His stomach began to simmer with that Warm Emotion again, and he longed to know the name of the emotion he was feeling. With a tentative hand, he reached out, and laid his palm of the bark. It was rough beneath his touch, and tingles shot from his hand throughout his body.

He didn’t know why he started laughing. He just felt the need to laugh. He had never been so giggly all his life. Laughing was not tolerated in the City. Now he could laugh at anything, even things that weren't amusing like this tree.

Flopping down in the grass, he leaned against the westward side of the tree, a grin on his face. He never felt so unlawful in his life. For a moment, he ignored his pains and aches, ignored his headaches, and just watched the sun. His legs were tired from walking all day, and it felt satisfying (he knew there was another term for it, but he couldn’t think what) to just sit there and do nothing.

Suddenly, his stomach gurgled. He was hungry again. A beating followed by a long and arduous walk was taking its toll. He grimaced. He wanted to save his granola bars, but the more he thought of them sitting snug in his bag, the hungrier he got. His hand moved on its own volition; it sprang into the bag and whipped out the next granola bar. He stared at it, and moaned aloud. He had to eat _now,_ or else he would surely die.

But with a wrench of self control, he stuffed it back in the bag, and took he blanket out instead. Trying to ignore his stomach, he trampled a patch a grass to lay in. He was about to lay down when he looked at the grass. It was a lush yellowy-green in the light of the dying sun. What did grass taste like?

He tore a handful out of the ground, and sat down, his legs splayed apart like a child. With both hands, he grabbed a few stalks from his pile. He sniffed them. They smelled dry and plantlike. He bit into them, chewing thoughtfully.

His nose wrinkled in disgust. Grass tasted _awful!_ It was far too dry and tasted pasty. He quickly spat it out, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. With vehemence, he threw the stalks away.

He curled up in a ball in his little nest, his head resting against the bag. It was hard and uncomfortable; the thermos kept poking his skull. He got an idea. Grabbing handfuls of the foul tasting grass, he stuffed them into the bag. Soon, he had a makeshift pillow. Satisfied, he laid back down, wrapping the blanket around himself to shield away what wind managed to get through the grass.

Through stinging cuts and aching memories, Arthur fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

When Arthur woke, the sun did not shine. The sky was a pure mass of whiteness, like he was looking at a cloud through a magnifying lens. Although the sun was nowhere in sight, there was still light. It was confusing. He groaned, pulling the blanket off himself.

He sat up stiffly. His limbs creaked and cracked when he moved, and he felt like an old man. He blinked; his right eye was so swollen from where Uther had hit him that he could barely see out of it. Hs mouth and eyes felt puffy and irregular, and his neck felt like it was going to snap off. Stretching his back until his spine popped helped a little.

Standing up with the help of the tree, he looked about. How different the landscape was! Without the sun, the grass seemed grey. The wind was faster today; his hair flew about recklessly like the leaves in the tree above him.

He took a sip of water from the thermos, and his stomach roared. He forced himself to only a bite or two of the granola bar, and he forced himself to eat some grass, even though it was unpalatably bitter and dry. Miserable, he ate grass and packed up his bag.

He felt his skin prickle and his hairs rise. His heart rate went up. There wasn’t any sun today. How on Earth would he continue to go North if there was no sun to keep track of? He remembered that he had laid down on the westward side of the tree. That was a blessing. But once the tree was gone, what would he do?  

In the end, he decided to keep his left arm out as he walked from the northern face of the tree. Perhaps that was a foolish way to navigate, but it was all he had. What did he know about navigation? He had lived in a dome all his life. He had relieved himself off to the side of the tree, and made feeble attempts at cleaning dirt off his clothes and hair. And so he went on, his arm stiff at his side, not looking back at the tree.

How long would he have to walk? What if the grassland went on and on, endlessly? There was no water, a problem beginning to tug at him. The thermos would not last forever. And there certainly was no food. He had to eat several handfuls of grass to even wet his appetite.

Deciding not to think about it, he trudged on, pummeled about in the wind like a child with no mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DISCLAIMER* I am not in fact a scientist, so I have no idea if a person can survive on grass. I know nothing, and I know I know nothing. Just sit back and enjoy the fic, and if it greatly bothers you, remove yourself and please make sure to grab small children by the hand as you leave. YOUR small children anyway. No kidnapping allowed here. Watch your step as you exit the gaymobile. Thank you for choosing to ride with us, the transport that will make you feel gay any day.  
> What did I just type.  
> Oh well.


	6. Eternal Grassland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the world is just so fuCKING GRASSY, LIKE HOLY SHIT WHO KNEW THE WORLD HAD SO MUCH GRASS

Arthur went on like this for days. Little by little he bit his way through the granola bars, and little by little the thermos got lighter and lighter. His skin began to burn in the rays of the sun, so he was forced to pull his hood up even in broad, sweltering daylight. His face remained swollen, and he continued to ache all over. He was not laughing anymore.

More than once it rained. Rain stopped everything. He would furiously whip the thermos out of his bag, and open it, hoping the rain would last enough to replenish it. He pulled Morgana’s pink water bottle out of his pocket and opened it as well. The officials hadn’t noticed it when they threw him out. And when he ran out of things to fill, he waited until he was soaked, and sucked his clothes. Thirst was constantly nagging at the back of his mind. For hours after the rains stopped, he would sit down and suck on anything even remotely wet. Anything to stop the bitter taste in the back of his mouth.

The grass was either tasting better, or he was getting used to the dry, musty taste. He wasn’t sure which. He ate a bite of granola bar twice a day, once when he woke and again before he slept. He always trampled a little nest into the grass, under a tree if he could find one. Somehow, he had managed to stay on a Northbound path. But he didn’t have time to think about it. He had to sleep.

One day, Arthur saw life other than trees and grass. He had been walking along, and suddenly a great whirring sound filled his ears. He stared, flabbergasted as a little brown _thing_ hopped out of the grass and disappeared as fast as it came.

He quickly chased after it, curiosity getting the best of him. Again and again the thing escaped, flying away just as he got to it.

He then stalked it slowly, eyes fixed on the spot he last saw it land. Crouched on all fours, he crept up on it. He peered through the grass, and pounced, quicker than anything.

He recoiled when something hard and scratchy poked his hand. Immediately he crushed it. He sat down, and opened his palms. There lay the broken form of his prey, a thing of about four inches. It was brown, and had bulging lumps for eyes. It had little jaws, and he counted five-no, six-legs. Two of those legs were large.

Without a second thought, he popped it in his mouth. He didn’t even know what it was; he knew only that it tasted a little better than the grass.

He spent the rest of that day hunting those things. The sun was hazy and bright overhead, and he sweated profusely. But he didn’t care. By the end of the day, he had a two dozen of those things. Exhausted but satisfied, he stuffed them in his bag, had a dinner of water, a bite of granola, and two of those things, and went to sleep.

He lost track of the days since his Banishment. “Has it been a week, or more?” he asked, his voice croaky with lack of use. He cleared his throat. He couldn’t answer. He just didn’t know. It seemed like an eternity.

He had become quite thin. His stomach thinned down, his rubs beginning to get more pronounced. Bt oddly enough, he wasn’t constantly hungry anymore. Maybe a person could get used to living on little food. He was growing thinner and thinner, and his swelling began to go down, his vision once more becoming more clear in his previously swollen right eye.

He also began to notice that the grass was beginning to thin as fast as his stomach. That was alarming, because the grass made up a large portion of his diet. He could see bare patches of dirt. He poked it with his foot. Nothing happened. There just wasn’t any grass. Just bare earth. He was so used to staring at ground that was covered with grass that dirt was a surprise.

Looking up, he saw a shadow in the distance. He looked at it hopefully. Maybe it was more rain? The thermos was getting dangerously empty, and still there was no sign of fresh water. The water in the thermos was stale and warm, and not even slightly desirable, but it was water.

He walked towards the shadow. It was in the northerly direction.

All day he walked towards it, the sun first in the corner of his right eye, and then above his head. His arm was stiff and aching from holding it out so much, but it was essential he did it. He had to head North, to find the Deities. He told himself the Tale over and over, to keep himself on track. He switched the words so that the Deities were shown in a better light, for they were the only things that could save him now. He had to respect the people who would save him.

Arthur’s eyes were fixed on the shadow so much he didn’t even notice that the ground sharply ended. He didn’t see the small cliff, and he had no idea what was happening as he walked right over it. Yelping, he tumbled down a hill, the bag thumping hard against his back, dust and grass poking his eyes. He was rolling down a hill, and he lost all sense of direction.

_Splash!_

He opened his eyes, and took an inhale of breath. But he did not breathe in air. _No!_ It was _water!_

He sat up, coughing violently to get the water out of his lungs. His eyes feasted on the sight before him, his face streaming with water and tears as he choked.

A small stream was flowing from west to east. It was no more than two inches deep, but the water was clear and cool to the touch. He didn’t care that he was sopping wet. How he _longed_ to be sopping wet. He felt such a Warm Emotion build in his stomach. He laughed his emotions to the world, and flopped back into the creek. The water flowed over his shoulders, and through his hair. He closed his eyes, his nose and mouth out of the water. It felt good to soak in that water, allowing it to wash away every particle of dust he had collected.

After several minutes of laying on his back, he stood up, and walked onto the bank. His clothes were heavy with water, and he small puddles formed around his feet. He looked around for his bag, and saw that it had fallen off on the tiny, sandy bank. Bending over, he pulled out the thermos and the water bottle.

He turned, and filled them to the top with good, fresh water. He gave thanks to the Deities for allowing him to find such a treasure. Once the water bottles were full, he filled himself with water. He drank until he was no longer thirsty, and then he drank some more. Once more he was drunk on water, and it felt so mysterious. Still, he had been unable to name his Warm Emotions. But surely this was the Warmest one of all as he guzzled down the water he had been so deprived of.

The water bottles full, Arthur pulled off each article of clothing until he was bare under the sun’s gaze. Splashing water all over himself, he washed away all the dust, dirt, and aches. He had not washed for weeks. The water felt good on his scarred face, and his joints didn’t complain nearly as much as they once did. It felt strange to not have any clothes on, but it was not a bad strange. He scrubbed himself all over, and then scrubbed all of his clothes. Even though it was noon, he decided to stay there all day.

He laid all of his clothes and the blanket out to dry. He then put grass on top of himself to protect his skin from the brutal sun, and dried himself off in the sun’s rays. Arms behind his head, he closed his eyes, a smile perched on his lips. He felt tired, but it was a good tired. It was difficult to describe. He fell asleep.

He woke up later, and the sun was beginning to climb down the sky. He had only slept for an hour or so maybe. Good thing too. He wanted to explore the creek before it was dark.

He was delighted to find a flowering plant growing a short distance away. He gnawed it, and it tasted palatably bitter. Saliva oozed through the dryness of his glands, and he stuffed himself on those plants. He made noises of satisfaction as he chewed and swallowed. His hair flew in the wind. It was almost completely dry.

Full, watered, clean, and rested, he felt so alive. He burst into another laughing fit, and took a careless sip from the creek. He could live here, easily. There was plenty of these plants, and lots of water. What was stopping him?

The shadow in the distance was stopping him. As he stood barefooted in the creek, he saw that it was no storm cloud; it was a grouping of trees. It was a forest, far into the North. His heart felt faint. Was it the Forest of Ascetir? It had to be! No one else mentioned any other forests. His heart leapt into his chest.

But he wanted to wait. It was still daylight, but he sorely needed a break from all that walking. Shaking his head, he went over to his clothes. He poked them. All of them were still damp besides his boxers. Pulling them on somewhat reluctantly, he sat down in the grass.

He whispered the Tale to himself quietly, even though there was no one to yell at him. “I’m really alone,” he said aloud, looking up at the sky.

Suddenly, an unpleasant feeling erupted in his chest. It felt like his lungs were aching. He stared at the ground. He was indeed alone. There was no life except the grass, trees, and hoppy things. They made poor company. None of them ever talked back. Although Arthur didn’t have a word for it, he was feeling _lonely._

His eyes burned, and his toes became wet, blurry blobs. He was crying again. He hadn’t cried much in the past week or so. It had been a long time since he was at the City, the last place he had cried, the last place he had socialized with life that could socialize back. It wasn’t nice to cry. This feeling inside him was not nice. He sat there, staring at his feet, crying quietly.

The sun went farther and farther down. As his clothes dried, he pulled them on. Soon, he was fully dressed except for his jeans. Denim took longer to dry than most other clothes. His eyes were bloodshot and he was sniffling. He was no longer crying, but he still had that achy feeling in his chest. It seemed to silence the roaring of his stomach, for he found that he wasn’t hungry.

Facing the west, he watched as the sun buried itself in the ground. One day, when he had found the Deities in the Forest of Ascetir, he would find out where the sun buried itself. But not for a while.

He pulled on his jeans, and ate some supper of those plants and those hopping things. He was almost finished the granola bars. Some days he skipped the granola and ate only those hoppy things and grass.

Crouching down by the creek, he peered into it. He could see his reflection. His hair was wild and untamed, and a little longer than he was used to. He was growing a beard too. His eyes were bloodshot, and pink scars adorned his face. But he was still himself, and he was still free. He broke his reflection by scooping some water up with his hands and drawing it up to his mouth.

Kneeling, he wiped his mouth, and looked at the shadow of the Forest of Ascetir. Too tired to be even satisfied, he stumbled to the grass. Tramping down a nest, he curled up and quickly fell asleep, Morgana’s cup clutched tightly in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty much going to post the rest of the chapters because I have nothing else to do but but relish in your happiness/suffering.  
> When will the gay begin????
> 
>  
> 
> Soon.


	7. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur discovers that perhaps wild, unknown plants shouldn't be eaten, for there are repercussions.

Arthur woke when it was still dark, roused by a wildfire burning rampantly in his gut. A burning pain radiated throughout his torso, and it hurt to breathe. He felt like invisible hands were clawing at his stomach and lungs. With an arrested gasp, he rolled onto his side, curling into a ball.

What had happened? What had reduced him to a shivering, paining lump of flesh? He could barely move; Only his limbs trembled like leaves in a violent wind. He tried to cry out for help, but he felt like his airways were filling with mud. He coughed, and his lungs burned worse than a fire. This was worse than anything he could imagine! He pulled his constricted limbs as close to himself as possible, panting through a sweat that was beginning to break.

He had to get to Ascetir! He had to go there, he had to find the Deities! How was he supposed to get there in the dead of night, experiencing a pain that was practically making him go blind? Ascetir was easily miles and miles away on healthy foot, but what on unhealthy foot? Would he have to _crawl?_

He gritted his teeth, his eyes screwed shut. He rocked back and forth, trying to ease the pain away. Oscillating, his mind raced. What could have caused this? He looked at the moonstruck water, and at the plants across from it.

_The plants._

The plants that had provided him a feast were now providing him his downfall. How could such harmless looking plants tear him apart? His vision began to swim far worse than when Uther had hit him. He was shaking so hard, and he was getting so tired. Groaning, he tried to crawl towards the creek.

He screamed. A thousand knife thrusts from a thousand angry men couldn’t have been worse than the pain he felt when he moved. His muscles were so tight and his joints were so stiff he could barely rock. Forcing himself to crawl was a feat more grueling than the journey to the other world.

Inch by excruciating inch, he made it to the creek. He sucked up a great mouthful of water, tears flowing down his cheeks and tainting the fresh water. His head was pounding, and he was trembling enough to cause an earthquake. He began to see double; two Arthurs looked up at him from two creeks. Four rivers of tears fell from four eyes.

He felt hot, and but he couldn’t take off his sweatshirt. Rolling into the creek with further protests from his throat and his guts, he let the cold water cool him down. However the water seemed to be boiling on his skin, and he cried out in shock. Groaning and whining, he rolled around, fingers thrashing convulsively.

Suddenly, his stomach lurched, and he arched forward, his abdominal muscles contracting violently. He vomited, his mouth burning. He felt like his limbs were made of fluttery cloth, and he did not feel better at all. He hacked, struggling to stay on all fours. Swaying in a wind that wasn’t blowing, he fell over, his eyes looking into a haze.

His breath getting shallower and shallower, he felt his heart begin to slow. The thought of his heart slowing frightened him, and it quickened again. But try as he might, his heart kept slowing down, down, down…

Now all he could focus on was his heartbeat. Pump in, pump out. Pump in…pump out…Pump…in…pump…

His eyes rolled into his head, his ears full of the grass swishing, even though he knew there was no breeze. Then, he heard a crunching of pebbles on feet. His heart quickened ever so slightly. He certainly wasn’t walking, so who was it?

He looked up, his chin covered in vomit and sweat. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“ _Morgana!”_

Two dark haired figures loomed above him in his doubled vision. Was she mad that he took her water bottle? He couldn’t see her face, only her dark hair. He wanted to touch it, but the pain of death had rendered him immobile.

“I’m sorry I took your bottle,” he cried, tears streaming from his eyes as he rested his chin on the dirt. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he could barely think. His heart began to beat intermittently.

“No, no, my bottles are all here, my friend.”

A soft hand ran through his hair damp with sweat. He closed his eyes willingly.

“Did you drink the water?” asked Morgana. Her voice sounded woozy and faraway, and she seemed to be talking from all directions at once.

He giggled. His pain was so intense he could no longer feel it; he was numb. “I didn’t know…you were a…ventril…ventriloquist, Morgana…”

Morgana’s hands had rolled him onto his back. He retched, but it sounded dim, dark, and faraway, like he had barely made any noise. He felt a searing tightness in his chest, and he began to choke.

“Oh, crap…” he heard Morgana whisper, and he was turned onto his side. Gagging, he felt his airway open a little.

“Um, yes, it’s one of my many talents. Now, tell me, did you drink the water?”

Arthur gasped an affirmation. “I had to, Morgana…I was so…thirsty…I’m sorry…”

And he began to bawl, more vomit riding up in his throat.

Arthur heard a clinking of glass, and a low humming, like someone was singing. He felt the haze over his mind thicken. He was shaking so much he felt pebbles roll about around him. He couldn’t feel below his knees. His eyes were open, but he could not see. His mouth was agape, trying desperately to suck in some air.

“It’s OK…Now, you’re tired…this will help you sleep…”

Morgana lifted his head, her fingers gentle. Arthur felt something that was not liquid but also not solid, something that was water but also not flow past his lips. It pooled in his mouth, and he began to gargle, the substance forming bubbles in his constricted mouth.

“Swallow it,” Morgana ordered, lifting his head higher. With immense difficulty, he opened his throat and swallowed it-or inhaled it? It was difficult to tell. He could feel Morgana’s hand massaging his throat, making sure he ingested it.

“Go to sleep…” whispered Morgana, close to his ear. His head rested on soft flesh, and his eyes began to flutter. He couldn’t feel anything now but his head.

And Arthur fell unconscious to the sound of a soft voice singing him a lullaby, to the clinking of bottles, to the feel of a hand stroking his hair, to the beckoning call of his Maker coming to take him Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUNNNNNN  
> WHAT WILL HAPPEN NOW??????? no one knows...  
> Except me ^-^  
> Will Arthur live??? Will he die??? I don't know guys, there aren't very many chapters left...
> 
> Arthur's poisoning aside, I'd like to thank you all for your support and enthusiasm! You guys snap up my works like territorial alligators, but you know what? I loVE ALLIGATORS. I mean look at them, aren't they ferocious and awesome???
> 
> As always, feel free to message me with your questions, comments, and requests!


	8. Beautiful Creature, Calm Your Wild Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IN WHICH MERLIN CARES ABOUT GENDER IDENTITY

“Oh, Gaius! Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Hmph. He drank the water, yes?”

“Yes, the Sick Water. He told me.”

“If he drank the Sick Water, then where'd he get this fresh cut on his face?”

There was a guilty pause, and a faint shuffling. “Well…he fell off my horse…”

“Merlin!”

“What? I didn’t think he’d fall off!”

“ _Merlin,_ he’s unconscious! Surely you know unconscious people can’t exactly control their motions?”

“Well, yeah! I had to put him in front of me. The horse sure didn’t like it. I got here as fast as I could…”

Another pause.

“…He’ll be alright, right?”

There was a snort. “Barely. If you had found him not a moment sooner he would've vomited up the lining of his stoma-“

“Stop it, Gaius!”

“You were the one who asked. Make yourself useful instead of asking stupid questions! Hand me that poultice.”

“…Why was he out there all alone?”

No response came at first. “He’s from the City, Merlin.”

“Oh,”

“Here, I need to go and get some more herbs. You stay here and keep wiping his brow, and call me if anything changes, you hear?”

“Yes, Gaius.”

There was a lengthy silence, interrupted only by feverish, irregular breathing. A wet noise of a damp rag rubbing on flesh interrupted the breathing.

“You were almost gone when I found you,” said the voice, Merlin as it was called.

“You were so pale! And you were shaking so much, d'you know that?”

“You were babbling. It was pretty scary. And your eyes! They were so…so _different!”_

There was the sound of hair being gently ruffled; Merlin was brushing hair out of his patient’s eyes.

“What were you doing, so far from your home?”

“…M-Mor…M-Morg…I-I’m s-s-sorry…”

“ _Gaius! He’s waking up…I think!”_

There was a burst of activity, and a buzz of excitement from Merlin. Finally, he was waking up!

 

* * *

 

His vision was blurry. There were only dark shapes roving about in the corners of his eyes. Every time he looked in their direction, they moved. He blinked for nothing. There was nothing to see.

“Look at his eyes, Gaius!” came an excited whisper.

Arthur groaned.

“Hush, Merlin, you’ll wake him before he's ready.” The voice was crumbly and grizzled.

“Are they supposed to be red like that?”

“ _Hush, Merlin!_ ”

“But…But have you seen anything so strange?”

Arthur counted two voices. One was old and the other young. He felt something graze his cheek. Without warning, there was a stinging sensation along his jaw. He let out a muffled moan.

“You keep forgetting, Merlin…I've seen a person from the City in the exact situation as this boy, years and years ago.”

“Oh…It's a boy, then?”

“ _Yes, it’s a boy!_ I already checked.”

Arthur squirmed, words flowing unchecked out of his mouth. He felt like his lips were weighted down, so he couldn’t form words properly.

“But what if he doesn’t think he’s a boy? What if he thinks he’s a girl, or something else?” came a hushed whisper from the young person.

There came a growl of annoyance from the older voice. Arthur felt hands secure him down, but he ignored them. His stomach was aching, and his breath tasted foul in his mouth. He was crusty with sweat.

“Until he wakes up and tells us otherwise, he's a boy,”

That seemed to satisfy the younger voice, for he grew quiet, as if he was watching the older work.

Arthur couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or awake. Either way, his stomach still ached and his blood moved like mud through his veins. That familiar bitter, pasty taste infiltrated the back of his throat, and he felt swollen all over. He wriggled away from the hands that held him down. He began to talk faster and faster. That older voice…so cold…so angry…What if it was Uther…?

“Hold him or something, Merlin! Don’t just stand about!”

“Sorry,” came the hurried younger voice, and there was a sound of padding feet.

“…Don’t…Please, don’t hit…It hurts…It hurts so much…!” Arthur whined, his eyes screwing shut.

_You insolent, sniveling fool!_

_How dare you dishonor me?! How dare you make me seem an idiot?!_

_Do you realize how your actions will affect me? Do you realize the pain and headaches it will cause?!_

_You._

SMACK!

_Aren’t._

WHACK!

_My._

THUD!

_SON!_

CRACK!

“NOOO!”

“ _Will you calm him down, Merlin?!”_

_“I’m trying!”_

Tears dampened his cheeks, his mind playing over and over his father slowly and painfully disowning him. To him, the fists hitting his face were real. He screeched, limbs whipping and jaw snapping in attempts to defend himself from a hail of knuckles that pounded his face, his jaw, his teeth, his eyes.

Suddenly, a warm presence surrounded him. Large, gentle hands scooped up his head, and placed it in the crook of a knee. Those hands stroked his hair, smooth fingers brushing his roots, massaging his scalp. Uther was beginning to be dragged away, the knuckles were beginning to recede…

One voice filled his ears, calm and flowing like a river. It felt like liquid life was flowing into his head, medicine in the form of a voice. Someone was singing in a language he could not understand, but the tone was so soothing. Instantly, his limbs felt warm, and they did not move not because of physical disablement, but because they had no reason to. He felt his stomach glow with the same Warm Emotion he felt when he was in his nook, and as if delving into the memory, he let out a great sigh. He turned his nose into the warm legs enveloping him.

The singing continued to embrace him, and he felt like it was protecting him from all harm. He didn’t even feel the stinging of his face, the stiffness of his joints, the searing ache of his guts. All he could do was focus on that voice.

“Well, I’ll be damned!”

“ _Hush, Gaius…_ ” the voice sang, not once breaking its mellifluousness.

Arthur existed in a state suspended between consciousness and sleep. His eyelids fluttered open and closed, but it didn’t matter. His vision was still blurry, but he didn’t care in the slightest. He was being rocked back and forth, that voice never ceasing. That feeling in his stomach became almost overpowering. He didn’t even notice tears leak from his eyes, but they were not tears of sadness or pain.

“ _Gaius, he’s crying…”_ the voice continued to sing.

“Yes, he is…”

“Morgana…” Arthur whispered, his lips waving. His exhales warmed the skin around him, and he inhaled warm air. He moved so that his air was fresh and cool.

“ _He’s Warm…Isn’t he?”_

“Yes. Colds cannot cry.”

The singing grew fond, and one of the hands in his hair moved to wipe a tear away. Little tingles shot through his skin where the hand touched him. Never once did the voice stop singing.

“That’s about all I can do. He has to rest, Merlin.” Came the grizzled voice, but Arthur barely heard him.

“ _I’ll stay with him…”_

The grizzled voice spluttered. “But he needs to res-“

The singing grew loud to drown out his voice. Arthur felt the body with the singing move him, lift him, and soon his head was rising and falling like a chest did when someone inhaled and exhaled. He could hear a heart beating, and soft gurgling noises. He could feel vibrations running through his cheek, and he felt so…so…

“ _Peaceful, isn’t it?_ ”

“Mmm…” Arthur murmured.

“Merlin!”

“ _Goodbye, Gaius,”_ the singing hummed.

There was an outraged hiss, and a whish of clothes. Then, there was nothing but the beating heart, the gurgling, the airy _whoosh_ of inhales and exhales, and that warbling, satisfying voice.

“I didn’t…did not…” Arthur breathed.

“ _Didn’t what, my friend?_ ”

“…Know you could…sing…Morgana…”

There came a melodious chuckle, and the hand methodically stroked his hair. Arthur felt so very drowsy…

“ _Well, another one of my talents…”_

“I miss…you…Morgana,” Arthur whimpered, a chill overtaking him. He curled closer to the warmth of the voice. His hands curled into fists.

“ _I know,”_ came the singing, and he felt himself be pulled closer to the warmth. He settled down again, and felt the urge to laugh. He only coughed, his chest rattling.

“ _Easy there…easy…_ ”

“…Sorry…”

“ _No need to apologize,_ ”

Arthur gritted his teeth, and he began to squirm again. “There is…every need! I-I…I…”

The singing swelled in volume, and seemed to get closer. There was a faint whooshing in his hair, and his head was warmed by breath. The voice was like a sedative; he stopped moving, and the haze was reinforced in his mind like a veil.

“I…I couldn’t stop them…from…from…”

” _Hush…Don’t worry about it…”_

“…From Corr-Correcting you…”

The singing was reduced to a distracted hum.

“…They’ll cut into you…like they did to me…”

Still just a thrumming hum.

“Do you hear…?”

_“Yes, I heard…But where do they cut?”_

Arthur’s eyes began to burn, and ashamed tears squeezed through his eyelids. “…I told you…into your…your b-brain,” he whispered, burying his face into the warmth before him and quivering.

The hum hitched for a moment, and then quickly resumed. The voice began to sing with words again, but Arthur didn’t know what they were saying. They were not addressing him. He purred when the hands searched through his hair, parting his hair this way and that.

The singing stopped. There wasn’t even a buzz of a hum. There was only a breathy gasp, and the hands were frozen in his hair. His hair felt spiky and wrong. He could hear the heart beneath him quickening. It echoed in his mind like the bitter memories swimming forward into the light…

_You are too late Arthur._

_Morgana is scheduled to get her Correction._

_Next week._

“ _I was too late! I could have saved you, Morgana!”_ Arthur screamed, and he began to writhe. The blood flew hot through his veins, and they felt like stabbing knives. His limbs cracked, and his lungs began to constrict.

“ _Hush! Oh, please, hush!”_ cried the singing voice above him, He felt hands grab at him, pull him down, hold back his thrashing limbs. In his ear the singing resumed, clear and…and… _peaceful,_ just as it had said!

The singing could not stop his tears.

“ _There was nothing you could do for me.”_

Arthur sniffed, curling back into the position he was in before he had been roused from his daze. “…I could have at least done…something…you’re my…sister…”

“ _You did do something, brother…You showed me you cared.”_

Arthur nodded in agreement, his head reeling. His whole body ached, and he tried to focus on the singing in his ear, the breath that was warming his hair, the hands burrowing in his locks.

He felt a finger trace the side of his head.

Almost inaudible, the singing whispered “ _…What did they do to you, you beautiful creature?”_

But Arthur was far too spent to respond. Burrowing into a warm nook of skin, his eyes fell shut, and he slept a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Morgana sang to him in his dreams. Her voice was something warm and peaceful, but it did not match the expression on her face. Over and over, he watched as she was dragged away by a snarling Ygraine, fear stamped on her features. He doubted whether or not she knew what fear was.

Then, Morgana was dragged into a room, suddenly clothed in a starched gown. Without a sound, she was placed on a table, and he had to watch as she was Corrected. In his dream, he was confined in a glass box; he reared upwards, clawing at the corners to try to get out, to take Morgana away, to save her, screaming all the while.

And then she suddenly sat up on her table, staring him square in the eyes. Shaved hairs fell from her head, and a trickle of blood flowed down her cheeks like a scarlet tear. The table behind her was marred in a pool of crimson blood.

“ _D’you want some water?”_ she asked.

 _“Morgana! You have to fight it, you have to-”_ Arthur screeched, only to be interrupted.

_“D’you want some water?”_

_“No, I don’t, listen to me, you have-”_

_“D’you want some water?”_

And he pounded on the glass until his skin blistered.

“ _No! Morgana, you have to escape or else they’ll-”_

Then Ygraine appeared, and she was holding up the saw that was used to cut into the brain. She walked out from behind Morgana, also dressed in a gown. Her hands were dripping with blood that slithered down her arms like serpents. The saw was bloody and whirring, sending droplets of Morgana’s blood sailing in all directions, even splattering on his box.

“ _You are too late Arthur,”_ she said in a droning voice. The droplets slid down his box, and he stared at them, horrified.

” _Shut up! Don’t say that!”_ He screeched, kicking the glass, flinging himself at it with all of his might.

“ _D’you want some water? D’you want some water? D’you want some water?”_

_“You are too late, Arthur,”_

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The blood slid down Morgana’s pale cheek, and down the glass.

_“D’you want some water?”_

“ _NO!”_

Arthur jerked awake, his heart beating faster than it had done in days. His mouth was open, sucking in cool air from a breeze. His hairs were on end, and his skin was tingling. He blinked, and his vision was no longer blurry.

Suddenly, he felt very warm. All he saw was the sun. It was streaming in through a sort of window, only the window was merely a hole in the wall. Cloths fluttered about the edge, dancing in the wind. The sky outside was the most brilliant blue he had ever seen. He breathed deeply through his nose, his eyes closed. He smelled…burning?

Exhaustion washed over him. He let out a quiet groan, and burrowed his head back into his pillow.

He blinked. His pillow was moving.

“You had a bad dream,”

Arthur let out a startled noise, and jumped. He looked about wildly. Who had spoken?

“Whoa! It’s OK! You’re alright now. You’re safe.”

He felt himself be pressed back down, and with jangling nerves, he let out a long sigh.

“Are you alright?”

With a grunt, Arthur sat up. He was beyond stiff; his muscles complained, and his bones complained even louder. Several vertebrae and his shoulders popped and cracked. He lifted shaky hands, and rubbed his eyes. Tingles shot through his back as he felt something brush it.

He turned to look at what was on his back, and he froze. A mixture between a groan and a grunt escaped his lips. He hands were suspended between his eyes and his chest.

Two of the oddest eyes he had ever seen were blinking back at them. The fact that they were shining with a softness unlike any other he had seen was not what was causing fear to rise in his throat, it was the _color._ Where Arthur had white in his eyes this… _thing_ had black. This being did not appear to have pupils either; his entire iris was just _blue._ Arthur felt his pulse go out of control, and his lips quaked. Without even thinking, he scrambled, trying to get as far away from those eyes as he could.

“ _Hey!”_

Arthur let out a screech, and fell to the floor with a sickening crunch. His head began to swim again, and he hissed between gritted teeth. Every part of him ached, and it felt like he had grown new parts that existed purely to hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut, and curled into a fetal position.

He felt hands on his arms. He snarled, and struck a blow. There was a surprised puff of breath, and he heard someone fall onto their back.

Arthur scrambled onto all fours. He stared that _thing_ straight in those eyes. Arthur’s teeth were bared, and his eyes were dancing with hatred. He squared his shoulders, looking positively threatening.

For a moment, he and the thing merely stared at one another. He did not blink, not even once. His breathing came in deep, thrumming growls. His eyes narrowed, and his brows furrowed.

The thing before him was in the exact shape of a boy. The boy was cowering beside a bed, his strange eyes meeting Arthur’s aggressive gaze. The blue blob in the center of the blacks of his eyes had shrunk. They were no bigger than a pebble, but it made him look even more frightening.

His hair was a dark black, darker than any night he had experienced Outside. His mouth was open in a pant, and Arthur’s insides recoiled in disgust when he saw that more than a normal amount of those teeth were sharp. The thing’s lips were red, and his skin was pale. He was long and thin, and he had odd markings on his chest and neck. His fingers were curled into fists, but Arthur saw that the nails were black. He wore only a scraggly pair of shorts. He didn’t seem like he wanted a fight.

“Where am I?” Arthur growled, advancing. His teeth were gritted, and his eyes blazed in his skull.

“W-What?” The thing asked.

Arthur sighed in exasperation. “I said _where am I?!”_

The thing blinked. “…Are you a boy?” he asked. His head tilted.

Arthur was taken aback. His mouth hung open dumbly, and he blinked several times. His shoulders shrank, and his muscles loosened.

“Am I what?”

“A boy.”

Arthur glared at the thing. Without breaking his stare, he sat back on his legs, his arms poised on his thighs. He did not know what to think.

“…What kind of question is that?” he hissed.

“One of great importance. I’d hardly want to get your gender wrong, yes?” the thing responded quietly.

Arthur growled, and stamped his fists on the ground in frustration. “ _Who are you?!”_ he barked.

The thing smiled, his sharp white teeth glinting in the sunlight that now light up his face. He held out a black clawed hand.

“Merlin,”

Arthur glanced distrustfully at the hand. He puffed aggressively through his nose, and did not take it, even when the thing wiggled its fingers. Odd black bands and dots adorned his long fingers. Were they tattoos?

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” the thing, Merlin, said quietly. He got into a kneeling position, and made as to move forward.

Arthur hissed, eyes wide, and moved farther away. He crouched down again, teeth grimacing in Merlin’s direction. He arched his shoulders, bunching his muscles. His blood pumped in his ears, and he ignored his aches and pain.

The thing smiled, but did not move forward. He sat up, hands resting on his knees.

“You've no reason to fear me,”

Arthur jumped again, looking back into the thing’s eyes. The blue was back to normal size. His eyes shone in the sun, and the black looked like twilight blue. His smile was unlike any Arthur had seen. It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t blank, it wasn’t emotionless. What was it?

The thing inched forward, eyes glowing with that strange light. His hand was beginning to reach forward. Arthur’s eyes darted from the hand to the eyes. The thing’s eyebrows looked so soft, and his skin glowed in the rays of the sun. His voice was quiet and unwavering. He moved fluidly and barely at all. His stare was not aggressive.

Arthur drew his shoulders closer and closer to himself, and he shied away from the hand. His lips curled, and he breathed deeply. He dropped on all fours, and he could not look the things in the eye. He tried, but that strange emotion in his face was scaring him. His limbs trembled, and his heart raced.

“You can trust me,” the voice whispered, and Arthur shied farther and farther away.

“…What’s trust?” he hissed.

There was a pause, and Arthur turned to look at those eyes. They looked like they were in pain, but surely his eyes weren’t hurting? The thing drew his hand away.

The thing smiled again, and began to reach out again. “It’s a type of believing,” he breathed finally.

“Why should I…believe you?” Arthur snarled, eyes flashing. His shoulders arched once more.

Merlin tilted his head. “Why should you believe the person who healed you?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed even more. Anger unfurled in his guts. He only responded in a deep growl.

“Please. I won’t hurt you. Not like they did to Morgana.” Merlin whispered, his eyes pleading.

Arthur’s eyes widened, his mouth opening. It was as if he was knocked back into a reality that had already happened, a reality that he could not change. It all came back, every word, every emotion, every face. Morgana’s scared eyes looked into his own, and his own terrified voice screaming for her echoed about in his head. His head filled up with a flurry of memories, and he let out a scream.

He lunged forward with ferocious speed. Merlin, or whoever he was, let out a screech of shock. The thing’s head hit the wooden bed frame as Arthur smashed into him, his eyes squeezing shut. Arthur roared in his face, his teeth inches from the thing’s nose. He dug his knees in the thing’s chest with all of the power in his thighs, and his hands clawed at the thing’s neck. Merlin thrashed beneath him, his terrible eyes widening as Arthur began to crush his larynx, screaming with all he was worth.

Merlin’s hands darted out and grabbed Arthur’s wrists, his eyes wide and staring at him. His mouth opened, and Arthur could feel his throat constricting under his hands. He was trying to say something, but Arthur wasn’t going to let that happen. How _dare_ he bring up Morgana? How did he know who she was?!

“ _Don’t you ever talk about her again! EVER!”_ Arthur screeched, his breath blasting Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin’s eyes changed. They seemed to get bluer and bluer. He began to pull at Arthur’s hands, his movements desperate. Arthur could feel him kicking him repeatedly in the hips, but it felt like a fly trying to kill him. Spit foamed at Arthur’s mouth, and Merlin’s resistance only made him angrier.

And suddenly, the singing voice reached his ears, faint, raspy, but definitely the singing voice. His muscles seized, and his mouth fumbled for words. He tried to resist the singing, staring deep into the strange eyes. They blinked, and Merlin’s mouth moved to the words of the song he was singing. For Merlin was the one who had provided him with a name for this new emotion: peace.

_Peaceful, isn’t it?_

Indeed it was.

Arthur could feel his voice filling him like a warm beverage. He lowered the pressure on Merlin’s chest, unsticking his hands from his throat with difficulty, as if he had been fused to the pale skin of his neck. He stared at Merlin, his face frozen in shock. He stumbled backwards, throat rasping, held in the thrall of Merlin’s voice and his gaze. His eyes glowed…peacefully? No. This was different.

Arthur fell backwards. Fully conscious, he could finally hear the voice. It was like liquid sunlight, like the purity of the wind. It was all life, all emotions made vocal. Merlin’s mouth curled into a smile, and he sat up. He seemed entirely unaffected by what had just happened. He reached out his hand once more

As the hand drew closer, Arthur bowed his head, his eyes closed. His lips quivered, and he felt the fight leave him entirely. The singing grew closer, high and as mysterious as a chant. Slowly, it began to change. It grew slower, clearer, more beautiful. The peace that he was feeling in the pit of his stomach was slowly leaving.

The voice seemed entirely different. Like the weary warbling of a grassland sparrow, it engulfed him. He breathed deeply, his lungs growing tight. Oh, what a feeling was welling up inside him! It weighed him down, it made his heart beat with something that was certainly not peace. Arthur let out a cry, and he began to tremble.

Suddenly, Merlin’s hand touched his jaw. He did not jump. He didn’t even move. That terrible, swollen feeling seemed to lace through his entire body. Arthur sniffled, and drew his knees up to his chest. He hugged his knees. Merlin’s hand pulled on his cheek like a breeze. He obeyed its pressure, and looked up.

Merlin was close to him now. His scent, his voice, and his very being seemed to wrap around him. His eyes were softer than the down of a young rabbit, but it made Arthur shake harder, and he felt something like shame crawl up his throat. Merlin’s hand cupped his cheek, and Arthur leaned into it, his eyes wet.

Arthur could not resist as Merlin wound himself around him. All hatred and rage that had glowed like a fire within earlier was gone. Still singing, Merlin nudged him back to the bed as if he weighed no more than a leaf. Sitting him down on it, and placing himself next to him, his voice drifted. It began to drop away, as silent as a bird’s wings flying away. Soon, it had retreated into nothing.

Arthur covered his face with his hands. “I am so sorry, Merlin…” he cried, not daring to look at him, for every time he did, that terrible new feeling coursed through his like venomous water.

“I’m the one to blame. I shouldn’t have…have brought that up,”

Arthur blinked, wiping his nose. “What did you do to me? Why did I stop?” he whispered. He hadn’t noticed Merlin’s hand in his hair.

He looked over, and saw Merlin looking out the window. His smile was gone. He seemed quite distracted, and he was humming quietly to himself.

“What’s your name?” he asked instead, choosing to ignore Arthur’s question.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur recited instantly, his eyes no longer crying.

Merlin sighed, and looked over at him. He was getting used to his odd eyes.

“You should rest, Arthur Pendragon,” he said lightly. He squeezed Arthur’s shoulders. He began to rise, but Arthur grabbed his arm.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“I didn’t,” Merlin said with a smile.

Arthur was about to argue hotly, but he blinked, shocked. “…You use contractions!” he gasped.

Merlin grinned, and gently pried Arthur’s fingers away. “Yes, I do,”

Arthur’s tongue fumbled uselessly in his mouth. He made as to get up, but Merlin raised his hand. Arthur crawled back obediently.

“Please, rest. I have to get the head healer in here. I told him I would get him when you woke,” he said, and he pushed open a door that creaked. He began to walk out into a stream of sunlight, and Arthur saw trees beyond his shoulder. Great trees, and a lot of them.

“Is that a forest?” Arthur called.

Merlin merely smiled, and closed the door behind him, leaving Arthur to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This personally is my favorite chapter not only because I like the chapter title, but we finally meet Merlin! The part where Arthur is acting like a scared animal reminds me of Toothless from HTTYD, and when Merlin touches Arthur's jaw and shit it reminds me of when Hiccup touches Toothless's snout and yeah I'm a nerd if you haven't yet figured that out.  
> Also, slightly gay shit happens. Gayer shit soon to come.  
> But thank you all for your nice comments and support! As always, feel free to message with your questions, comments, and requests!


	9. Arthur's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur tells Merlin and Gaius everything

Arthur curled up into a ball onto the bed once Merlin, analyzing every single pain. His joints felt like sandpaper rubbing fiercely on skin as he moved. His blood sloshed through his veins like syrup. His eyes were heavy, and his eyelids seemed swollen. His lungs pinched as he breathed, so he was forced to take quick, shallow breaths. His muscles cramped with the ghost of burning pain. His head pounded mercilessly, and he was beyond exhausted. He could barely move, and he didn’t even look up as he heard the door open.

“Arthur?”

Reluctantly, he turned his head. Merlin was standing above him, flanked by a short, wrinkly man. Arthur gawked. This man was glaring at him, his eyebrow arched. He had a shaggy mane of white hair, and his hands were folded over his stomach. His mouth was a lined frown, and his eyes were narrowed. He too had the same black eyes, but where Merlin’s eyes were blue, he had a deep hazel. Fear ran through him, and his tried to squirm away. He cried out, and sat still, trembling softly.

Merlin sat down next to him, and he looked up at his elder. “He’s awake,” he said.

“So I noticed,” the man growled in a grizzled voice. Suddenly, the conversation Arthur had heard earlier rushed back to him; it had been Merlin and this man talking. Gaius was his name, right?

“How are you feeling, boy?” the man grunted, stumping over to him. He reached out, his fingernails also black, though he lacked the odd markings on his fingers. Arthur cringed involuntarily, shrinking away.

“He won’t hurt you,” Merlin whispered, running his hand through Arthur’s hair again.

“I don’t believe him,” Arthur rasped.

The old man’s eyebrow shot higher. “What’s he nattering about?” he hissed at Merlin.

Merlin nodded, and translated. “He means to say he doesn’t trust you,”

“Why didn’t he say so plainly?”

Merlin nodded again, looking down to meet Arthur’s gaze. That same pained look was on his face. He frowned. “He doesn’t know what trust is,” he murmured, not blinking once as he looked at Arthur.

The man’s gaze softened, and Arthur looked instead at him. “I can believe that,” he said, and reached out again. This time, Arthur allowed him to examine him.

The man stretched his eyelids open, and peered into each eye in turn. He pulled his jaw so that his mouth popped open, grunting in displeasure. He peered inside his mouth, and pushed his chin so that he could shut it. He felt Arthur’s neck, poked his cut cheek, and told him to try to sit up.

Hissing, Arthur sat up with difficulty. He squeezed his eyes shut and crisscrossed his legs as if meditating. The man prodded Merlin so that he could sit next to Arthur. Arthur watched as Merlin walked to lean on a small, wooden table. His face was creased in an emotion Arthur could actually name: _worry._

“Seems you tamed him,” the man called to Merlin as he squeezed Arthur’s joints.

“You speak as if I’m an animal!” Arthur snapped, eyes blazing. How dare this ‘Gaius’, he with the animalistic teeth and eyes say that he was something to be tamed?

“He’s right, Gaius,” Merlin muttered.

Gaius, as Merlin called him, grunted. “From what Merlin tells me, you certainly acted like a predator.”

Arthur began to growl, his lip curling. His eyes narrowed, and he barely heard Merlin hurry over.

He crossed his arms and glowered at Gaius when Merlin placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “That was hardly his fault, Gaius. Look what they did to him!”

Merlin turned Arthur’s head and parted his hair. Arthur knew at once that they were looking at his Correction scar. That was what caused Merlin to stop singing earlier, when he was barely conscious!

“I am very well aware what kind of procedures they have where he comes from,” Gaius snapped, pressing various parts of Arthur’s arms and legs. Arthur hissed in pain, resisting the temptation to swat the man’s hand away as Merlin squeezed his shoulder tighter.

“Cold Emotions make you act like an animal. I’m surprised he didn’t attack when you first held him, Merlin,” Gaius said, now examining Arthur’s ears.

“He was nearly unconscious, Gaius,” Merlin responded, and they talked as if Arthur was deaf and couldn’t understand them.

Gaius looked at Arthur in the eyes again. “Now, tell me, what's your name?”

Arthur told him.

“What kind of outlandish-” the man started to grumble, but was interrupted by Merlin’s aggravated scolding.

He sighed. “I’m Gaius.”

“I know,” Arthur responded, blinking blankly. He felt a numbness overcome him, the same numbness he felt when he was in the City. He suddenly felt annoyed with both of the men around him, annoyed that Gaius was talking to him like he was a secondary species, annoyed that Merlin was touching him.

Gaius turned slowly to look at Merlin, who was on Arthur’s other side, absently scratching his back. “You told him?”

Merlin frowned, and shook his head. They looked at Arthur questioningly.

Arthur blinked. “I heard you talking,” he said, turning now to Merlin. “Do you think my hair is strange?” he asked, his voice sharp.

Merlin swallowed, and nodded. “It’s different,” he said quietly.

“Arthur, tell us what happened,” Gaius prompted.

And so Arthur did. The words flowed out of him like a river. It felt satisfying to tell someone his story, how he had been caught coming Inside, how he had to be beaten into submission by the Patrol, how he had admitted to feeling Warm Emotions, how Uther had beat him, how he had said goodbye to his family, how he had been thrown Outside one last time, and how he began to walk North.

“I had to find the Forest of Ascetir. There lives a band of Deities, and they are purveyors of Warm Emotions. I thought they could help me.” He said, staring at the fingers in his lap.

He looked up and saw Gaius and Merlin staring at him, their faces contorted into an unknown emotion.

“I don’t know very many Warm Emotions,” Arthur whispered, “I know only doubt, fear, delight, curiosity, worry, and peace. I wouldn’t know happiness if it slapped me in the face.

“I know the names of a few others, but I don’t know what they’re like. Sadness, hope, empathy, love, happiness, joy, I don’t know what they feel like. Sometimes…Sometimes I feel something, but I don’t know what it is.”

He looked at Merlin, and saw that look of pain on his face. “Like right now, I have no idea what you’re feeling. You look like you’ve got a cut on your hand and that you’re reacting to it,”

Merlin swallowed. “I am feeling pity,” he said quietly.

Arthur shrugged, having no idea what pity was like, and continued.

“They always told me that having Warm Emotions was disgusting. They said that Deities were a foul, barbaric people. They are everything we are not, they stand by every rule that we outlaw, they use words that we use as curses. They are to be feared, to be avoided.

“But I know I have to find them. They’re the only ones who can help me understand what’s happening,”

He huffed bitterly. “They’re the only ones who will accept me now,”

There was a thick silence as Merlin and Gaius digested his story. Arthur heard a faint sniffle from his right, and he turned. Merlin’s hand was whisked away from his face, but Arthur saw it shine wet in the sunlight.

He blinked, his brow furrowing.

“How did I get here? Where am I?” he asked.

“ _Now_ he asks,” Gaius grunted. Arthur ignored him, looking instead to Merlin.

Merlin forced a smile. “I found you by the creek of the Sick Water. The water poisons those who drink from it.”

Arthur blinked, and shook his head. “No, that can’t be right. The water was fine. I ate some funny plants, though…”

“This plant?” Gaius asked, and Arthur turned. The old man was holding the same flowering plant he had feasted on by the creek. He nodded vigorously, feeling a jet of saliva in his mouth.

Gaius shook his head, a smile on his lips. “This, my boy, is sorrel. It is quite edible, and also medicinal. I sent Merlin out to fetch some, and it’s lucky for you that I did. Had he not gotten there and given you the antidote sooner, you would have surely died.”

Arthur gawked at him, and then at Merlin. “You saved me?” he gasped.

Merlin nodded, his smile wide. “I told you so.”

Arthur swallowed as that terrible swollen feeling welled up inside him. He hung his head. “To think I tried to strangle the man who saved me,” he whimpered.

“You were not to know, Arthur. You let your Cold Emotions get the best of you.” Merlin said, squeezing his shoulder.

“You were in a fever and unconscious when Merlin got here. I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it,” said Gaius.

Arthur nodded, not really listening. He looked over at Merlin. “Do you know where the Forest of Ascetir is? Do you know where the Deities are?”

Merlin grinned, and he threw his head back to laugh the same way Arthur did. His eyes were glowing warmly. His laugh was almost like his singing, and Arthur felt an echo of a haze go over his mind.

Merlin sighed, and he enclosed Arthur’s wrists in each of his hands. Looking at him with those strange eyes, he nodded. “One of them stayed with you and sang to you throughout the night and all the day, keeping you warm and safe,” he murmured, his breath warm on Arthur’s nose.

Arthur blinked, digesting Merlin’s words. His face began to glow, and his mouth cracked into a smile. His muscles began to tingle, and his heart began to pound like a drum, faster and faster. He felt as light as a leaf, his chest glimmering like it was swimming in a golden elixir. He began to giggle, staring at Merlin with pure, unbridled delight.

He drank in Merlin’s odd appearance like fresh air, for here before him was a Deity! The same Deities that had lingered on his thoughts as he went to sleep at night, the same Deities that were so disrespected by his family, the same powerful beings that pushed him North even when he felt that all was lost.

This boy with the strange markings, the odd eyes, teeth, nails and the beautiful voice was a Deity! He had found them! Through all his hunger, through all his thirst, through all his pain, he had made it! Being plastered by a patrol, being beaten by Uther, having to suffer as he was orphaned was worth this. Indescribable delight soared like a bird in his stomach, and he let out a sharp cry. He made incoherent words and noises, trying to express just how delighted he was.

“Don’t get too excited. You’ll only hurt yourself,” Gaius grunted gruffly, but the Warm glint in his eyes was unmistakable. So Arthur merely looked around, his mouth squeezed shut, trying not to burst with this new Warm Emotion: excitement. Gaius took his pulse, and listened to his shaky breathing. Merlin hummed quietly to himself, a smile on his face, watching Gaius work.

“Well, you won’t die,” Gaius concluded, rising stiffly. He puffed through his nose as he saw the shining expression on Arthur’s face. “You’ll stay the night, and you should be alright tomorrow. But take this, it’ll help with the pain in your joints.”

He handed Arthur a small cup of reddish liquid. Arthur looked at it with narrowed eyes. It looked quite a bit like slightly coagulated blood, and it smelled like scum.

“Don’t look at it or sniff it. Just down it all at once,” Gaius said dryly, packing away some plants and other equipment into a worn, brown bag.

Arthur did as he was told, and grimaced as the liquid poured down his throat. It tasted a lot worse than it smelled, but it was better than grass.

“Haven’t had much to eat, have you?” Gaius asked as if reading his mind.

Arthur blinked, and didn’t notice Merlin take the cup away. “I was just thinking that,” he gasped.

“You’re looking like you could use some food,” Gaius said in a slightly louder voice, tilting his grizzled head in Merlin’s direction. Merlin blinked, and leapt up. He hurried out the door without another word.

Arthur fiddled with the bedding. It was made of some kind of hair, though it was far softer than hair. It was sleek brown, and it was warm.

He asked Gaius what it was, bringing it to his face to sniff it. It didn’t smell like anything at all.

“That’s a fur blanket,” Gaius answered. He raised his eyebrow. “Never seen a fur before, huh?”

Arthur shook his head. “What’s a fur?”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that later,”

Arthur looked up. Merlin had kicked the door open with his foot. He held a sort of tray, though it was made of wood. It seemed everything was made of wood. The building he was in, the furniture, the bedstead, the floor, everything was wooden. He watched as Merlin sat down next to him, and proffered him the tray.

Enticing scents graced Arthur’s nose. Instantly his mouth watered, and he shut it quickly to prevent drool from coming down on his chin. His eyes grew huge, his fingers twitching. His stomach roared, and he wanted to devour all of the strange food that was on that tray. He looked at Merlin, completely shocked.

“Go on,” Merlin encouraged, nudging his hands with the tray.

Arthur took that tray and sat it on his knees. After nothing but grass and hoppy things, this was a feast. He made noises of deep satisfaction, ignoring everyone and everything as he stuffed himself.

“I don’t know what this is, but it’s really…really…” he said through half chewed food, swallowing a large mouthful with difficulty. He looked at Merlin, waving his hands in small circles.

“Good?” Merlin offered, baring his sharp teeth in a smile.

Arthur blinked, and slowly nodded. He digested his food and this new word. He closed his eyes, and savored. He smiled, and he could feel another laughing fit come on. It started out slow at first, like a trickle of water, and then became a huge downpour. He was doubled over, laughing so much his face hurt. His laugh floated out the window, and spiraled into the sky, the sky that was his to savor, his to talk to, his to laugh at, and his to enjoy.

Looking around, he saw a new life. All of this was so different and somewhat frightening. The breeze from the open window, the dying rays of the sun, the new scents, sounds, and sights, they were all his to enjoy. He didn’t need to worry about a Patrol catching him anytime he wanted to see the sun or breathe the fresh air. He needed only look out a window, or walk Outside.

The Outside was his.

No one could keep him Inside anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY ARTHUR FOUND THE DEITIES AND NOW HE IS BEING FED  
> Praise  
> NOW LET THE GAY COMMENCE  
> Thanks again for all of your support, and feel free to message me with your questions, comments, and requests!


	10. The Power of Emotions in His Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover Merlin's true identity.

Arthur spent the night wrapped in the soft furs and on a mattress stuffed with something called ‘feathers’. He didn’t have the faintest idea of what Gaius had been talking about when he told him, and he wondered what feathers looked like. Whatever they were, they were very soft. Numbed by Gaius’s pain medication, he slept soundly for the first time in a long time.

He woke up warm in a ray of sun the next day, burrowed in a cocoon of furs. There wasn’t a breeze today, but there were a few clouds floating outside his window.

He sat up tentatively. His bones cracked like they normally did, but he did not ache. His joints moved with little to no complaint, and his head was clear. He could see everything perfectly. He felt perfectly healthy. He stretched, and a warm feeling seeped through his muscles.

“You’re awake,”

Arthur looked up, and saw Merlin walking towards him. His face also had a smile on it. Arthur still cringed at his eyes, but he knew he better get used to them. He had so many questions to ask Merlin. It was all so frightening, but not really _frightening…_

“How are you feeling?” Merlin asked, placing himself at the foot of the bed. His long toes played with the furs. His toenails were also black.

Arthur nodded. “I’m feeling…good,” he said, flaunting his new word.

“That’s good,” Merlin purred, resting his elbows on his crisscrossed knees.

Arthur looked at him, full to bursting with questions. He nibbled his lips, not wanting to seem rude. He rarely got to ask questions throughout his entire life, and being able to ask any question he pleased so suddenly was a bit alarming.

Merlin smiled, his eyelids half closed. He was a picture of relaxation. “What is it?” he asked, his sharp teeth showing.

“I…I have a few questions…”

“Judging by your face, you have more than a _few_ questions.” Merlin pointed out.

Arthur gave a small nod, an irrational fear pooling in his stomach. He swallowed, and looked at the furs. He quickly glanced at Merlin, as if asking permission to ask those few questions.

“Go ahead, Arthur. That’s what I’m here for,” Merlin said.

And Merlin was bamboozled by a deluge of questions. He had no time to answer them, for once one was out of Arthur’s mouth, another one was brewing and following it.

“Why are your eyes like that? Are those tattoos on your chest and fingers? How come your teeth are pointy? And why are your nails black? How can you do the thing with your singing? We are in Ascetir, right? And you are a Deity, right? Can I go Outside? And where do feathers come from, and where do furs come from? Will you-”

Merlin laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He raised his hands to stem the flow of questions from Arthur’s mouth. Arthur blinked, and snapped his jaw shut. Merlin giggled, his hands on his stomach.

“Really, you _are_ an odd creature,” Merlin sighed, swallowing back his laughter in an attempt to be serious.

Arthur twitched as if to displace an irritating horsefly. Merlin looked at him, tilting his head.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Arthur folded his arms, and looked out the window. “No…Well, yes. I wish you’d all stop calling me ‘creature’ or ‘predator’. I’m like you, aren’t I?”

Merlin blinked, his mouth thinning. After a moment’s thought, he nodded. “Yes, you are like me. You only look a bit different, and you feel things differently,”

He looked up, and smiled widely. “Which is where I come in. Today, Arthur Pendragon, is the day I teach you about Warm Emotions.”

“No, you will not!”

Arthur and Merlin turned. There stood Gaius in his nightclothes, looking sour. He was glowering at Merlin. His eyes were livid, and Arthur did not understand why. He drew the furs up to his chest, looking back from Merlin to Gaius.

Merlin’s face was getting annoyed. It was strange, seeing Cold Emotions on Merlin’s face, a face that was until now a beacon of Warm Emotions. His eyes narrowed and he jutted out his chin.

“Well, who else will?” He demanded.

Gaius grunted, folding his arms. “Not you! You’re not ready!”

Merlin scoffed. “You do realize I’m the only one who can physically undertake this task, right?”

“It’ll kill you! You can’t start before you’re ready!” snarled Gaius, eyes ferocious.

Arthur cleared his throat loudly. Merlin and Gaius both whipped around to look at him.

“Um, sorry, but what're you talking about?” he asked quietly, not wanting to provoke either of them.

Merlin’s expression softened. “Well, it’s a little hard to explain,” he began uneasily.

Gaius grunted as he sat down in a nearby wooden chair. “I’ll explain it to him, my boy,” Gaius said. Merlin nodded respectfully, and fell silent.

Gaius shifted in his chair, and eyed Arthur with his perpetual disapproving stare. Arthur forced himself to make eye contact, even though the eyes of a Deity were something that still frightened him.

“Did you wonder how Merlin could turn you from a homicidal man to a scared boy with only his voice?” Gaius started slowly.

Arthur nodded. He had spent majority of his night worrying about that. He glanced over at Merlin, who was looking only at Gaius.

“Merlin has the power of emotions in his voice. He is one of the very few who can use his voice to produce physical emotions. He is the one of the few of us who is a warlock,”

He pointed to the markings on Merlin’s chest and fingers. “Those are the markings of a warlock. You would call them tattoos.”

Arthur blinked, looking at the tattoos with interest. That was one question answered, but now another was rising. What did it mean to have ‘the power of emotions in his voice’?

“I don’t understand.” He said.

Gaius huffed. “Oh, listen, it’s not that hard. Merlin can produce emotions out of his singing. Like you or I exhale air when we breathe, Merlin exhales emotions when he sings.”

Silence. Arthur wasn’t believing anything he heard. He raised his eyebrow.

“He’s not joking, Arthur,” Merlin murmured.

“But…But that’s not possible! Emotions aren’t physically _created._ They don’t have any form! They’re…They’re not…you know! You can’t look at an emotion, you can’t just put them in a bottle!” Arthur said loudly, rubbing his neck.

“Arthur…” Merlin said in a low voice, causing Arthur to turn and look at him instantly, “…when I first found you by the creek, what did you hear?”

Arthur, taken aback by the strangeness of the question, mouthed uselessly. It seemed like ages ago he was at the small creek, washing his clothes and eating sorrel plants. What Merlin was asking was not an easy task; he had been in such a state of delirium at the time that he had thought Merlin was Morgana. Thinking hard, he tried to remember. He closed his eyes…

“The clinking of glass. Someone singing. I thought it was Morgana,” he whispered, looking at Merlin with confusion. “You gave me something, something that put me to sleep,”

Merlin nodded, still not smiling. “Yes, I did. Do you remember the qualities of the substance I gave you?” he asked.

Arthur brought his hands to his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. Who the hell knows? How did he expect him to remember something from when he was on the precipice of death? It was like trying to remember the name of some stranger he had met twenty years ago.

Suddenly, he remembered. He opened his eyes, slowly removing his hands from his temple. He blinked, and he could almost feel the substance in his mouth. It felt so wrong and unnatural.

“It wasn’t like anything I’d ever gotten…It was like water, but it wasn’t like water at the same time.” He murmured.

He looked up at Merlin. “I thought it was the antidote?” he asked.

Merlin shook his head. He turned to look at the old healer in his chair. “Gaius, could you hand me my bag? It’s under your chair,”

Gaius gave Merlin a small cloth bag from under his chair. It had strips of colorful cloth hanging from it, and all number of beads and what Arthur instantly knew to be feathers were tied to it. It looked worn, but Arthur knew it was well taken care of; it had patches and stitches all over it.

When Merlin placed it in his lap, Arthur heard glass clinking. His pulse quickened. It was the exact clinking he heard by the creek. He swallowed, eyes glued to the bag.

Merlin reached inside, and pulled out some bottles. Each was small enough to fit in Merlin’s palm, and they were each a vibrant color. One was sky blue, another was blood red, another as pink as Morgana’s water bottle, and another as yellow as the sun. There were so many colors in the bag as Arthur leaned forward to peer into the it.

“Here,” Merlin said, grabbing a handful of the bottles and holding them out to him.

Cradled like a child in his palm sat those bottles. They were so small and delicate in his hands. Bringing them close to his eyes, he could feel a strange aura about them. They looked so tiny, but they contained such great power; he could feel it now, like a blast of chill air in his face. It made his hands tremble, and his hairs stand straight up.

The substance inside swirled around and around like a gas, but they swished with a noise like a liquid. They were unlike anything he had ever encountered before.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Arthur breathed, bathing in the pure power that seeped through the bottles and into his hands.

“Well, you’ve never seen a bottled emotion before,” Merlin pointed out, and nodded. “Go on, try one.”

Arthur suddenly felt fear course through him. The pulsating power on his skin suddenly seemed very intimidating. What would happen if he spilled it? What if it was a poison? No…why would these Deities poison him right after they healed him?

He tentatively pulled out the stopper from the first bottle, a pink substance sloshing about inside. He blinked, and poked his finger into it. It wouldn’t fit. He tilted it to put a drop in his palm, but Merlin grabbed his wrist.

“Give it a minute,” he whispered, releasing Arthur as he turned the open bottle upright.

“What are you-” Arthur spluttered, and then he gasped.

The substance began to emerge from the bottle like a gas. It swirled about him, slithering under his arms and entwining his fingers. It was pale pink, and thin. It tickled him about the chin, sliding through his hair. As he stared at it in wonder, he could feel it washing over him. He reached out, attempting to catch some, but it merely dispersed when he touched it. He chuckled, completely oblivious to Merlin’s and Gaius’s stares.

“What is it?” he breathed, vibrations running across his skin where the emotion touched him. It was pleasingly cool, like a puff of misty air.

“That,” Merlin said, “is peace.”

Arthur closed his eyes, and breathed deeply through his nose. He snorted in alarm as he felt the emotion fill his lungs, and he coughed, but nothing could dislodge it.

But suddenly, he didn’t want to dislodge it. Deep in Arthur’s lungs, oxygen laced with peace was filtered into his bloodstream, and it was then delivered to the rest of his body. A thrill spread from the tips of the hairs on his head to the soles of his feet. A deep haze filtered over his mind again as his brain soaked in the raw emotion. His heart slowed, and his breathing deepened. He breathed slowly, as if through a high.

“Maybe you gave him too much,” Gaius said as though locked in a box far away.

Merlin’s response was equally distant, but Arthur could barely hear it. He slowly flexed and loosened his fingers, his eyes wide. His movements were slow and slightly lethargic, but his grin was something to behold. His stomach was positively burning with that Warm Emotion he knew now to be peace.

He lay back, staring at the ceiling with a ridiculous grin. Every breath he took felt laced with honey and sugar. Every blink felt like a calming wash over his eyes, every movement of his muscles felt like essence of bliss. Every cell was glowing with a hitherto unimaginable calm.

“Do you believe me now, Arthur?” Merlin asked, gently taking the bottles out of his slack hand, corking the bottle of Peace after somehow herding the rest of it back inside until it was swirling about as it normally did.

“Do you mean trust or do I think you’re telling the truth?” came the question from the furs.

Merlin smiled softly. “Do you think I’m telling the truth?”

Arthur laughed aloud, and Merlin knew he had his answer.

Merlin turned now to Gaius, his face triumphant. “Now do you believe I can handle this?”

Gaius harrumphed, folding his arms. His mouth was a thin line, and he seemed to be contemplating Merlin like he was a tough philosophical question.

“I still think it’s unsafe. You know the affect it has on you, doing this!” he growled.

Merlin hissed, gripping the furs, his toes curling and uncurling. “We can’t just leave him the way he is!” He growled in an undertone, but he needn’t, for Arthur was far too zonked to listen.

“Yes, but I can’t let you hurt yourself!” said Gaius through gritted teeth.

“Well, that’s just a risk I’m going to have to take, isn’t it?” Merlin responded, looking down at Arthur, who was waving his hands in the air and giggling quietly.

When Arthur gained most of his sense back, he turned to find Gaius and Merlin talking in hushed yet harried tones in the corner. Feigning wooziness, he listened, straining his ears to hear what they were saying.

“You do realize how this can affect you? You can literally be drai-”

“I am well aware of the side effects of making emotions before I’m ready. I’ve been doing it since my Father died, right? He was the village warlock before me, and he told me he did his job before he was ready and look how he turned out!”

Gaius growled in annoyance. “You weren’t the one he went to when he was suffering, Merlin! He went to _me,_ and the state he was in when he came to me…”

There was an angry huff from Merlin. “Gaius, you and I well know that Arthur can’t live like this forever. He’s going to want to know what’s happening to him. If I don’t unlock his Warm Emotions, then soon he’s going to come to you in a much worse state than my Father ever did! If we keep him in the dark much longer, he might do something horrible, like…like what he did to me.”

Gaius tossed his hands in the air with helplessness. “I guess I can’t stop you, then,”

“No, I guess you can’t!” Merlin snapped.

With that, Merlin turned his back and walked over to Arthur.

“How are you feeling?” he asked his voice once more soft and kind, though the anger still blazed in his strange eyes.

“Peaceful,” Arthur replied, sitting up.

“Good. Because we’re going to start your training, right now. Get dressed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARTHUR'S FIRST LEGIT WARM EMOTION *flails*  
> ...Some of you have told me that Arthur getting the peace is like drugs. Is it? I have no idea how drugs work. IT'S NOT A DRUG, AND WARM EMOTIONS ARE NOT METAPHORS FOR DRUGS OK, CHILL OUT.  
> But yes! Arthur is about to embark on his journey with Warm Emotions, a literal emotional rollercoaster...well, minus the whole rollercoaster part because they are in a rustic village in a forest, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.   
> Thanks again for the kind words and support! I hope you stick with me long enough to see what happens to our little muffins. As always, feel free to message me with your questions, comments, and requests!


	11. Arthur's Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YOU GET A WARM EMOTION, YOU GET A WARM EMOTION, EVERYONE GETS A WARM EMOTION!!!

The Forest of Ascetir was right out of a dream. It was nothing like Arthur had imagined; he thought it would be full of the scraggly trees he had seen on the plain. He was very wrong. Ascetir was a forest with massive trees. Arthur had to crane his neck to see them. The leaves were constantly singing in a near constant breeze. It was never silent; there was birdsong, and a swishing of grass. These noises, once so strange and otherworldly, were becoming second nature to him.

But there were other noises Arthur did not recognize. He stood in Gaius’s doorway fully dressed in his cleaned clothes flanked by Merlin, and he just stared and listened.

There was a strange crackling noise from something he recognized to be fire. He had classes in school warning about fire. Hackles raised in fear, he stared in confusion as people were seated near the fire without any concern. They too had the same teeth, nails, and eyes as Merlin, but they lacked his strange markings.

“That’s a fire,” Merlin said, his tone amused.

“I know that,” Arthur snapped, “it’s just that…why are people so close to it?”

Merlin looked to the fire. “It’s a cooking fire,” he said, looking at Arthur with furrowed brows.

“But…fire’s dangerous!”

Merlin laughed, looking at Arthur as if he was awe inspiring. “Not if you know how to tame it!” he said.

“How do you tame fire?” asked Arthur, squinting at the flames with his distrustful eyes.

Merlin shook his head. “Now’s not the time. Come on,” said he, running his black nails though his equally black hair. Then, to Arthur’s utter astonishment and horror, he reached and took Arthur’s hand, moving with practiced ease, as if it were habit. His fingers were long and warm, yet Arthur felt a spasm reach his own fingers. He snatched his hand away.

Merlin looked at him, a look of pain on his face, but Arthur knew it to be emotional hurt at once. The warlock's eyes widened and his eyebrows flew upwards like sparks from the cooking fire. He stared at Arthur, his own hand pulling away and curling like a beaten animal.

“What’re doing?!” Arthur growled, his teeth bared.

“I-I…” Merlin spluttered, completely nonplussed. A flush rose in his cheeks, and his hand scratched his neck, “…it’s a custom here to hold hands when you’re walking with friends,” he said, averting his eyes.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” Arthur scoffed.

“Fucking? What’s that mean?”

“Never mind,”

“But yeah…I’m not lying, look around,” Merlin said, pointing to a pair of Deities walking past.

Arthur watched with narrowed eyes. These Deities were female, and they were most certainly holding hands. They didn’t even act like a couple; they were in fact arguing hotly about something called ‘horses’, though they did not seem to be truly angry. They were just…well, _friends._

“See?” Merlin asked, looking at Arthur blankly.

“But…only couples hold hands,” Arthur responded lamely.

Merlin shook his head. “No. Couples hold hands too, just in a different way. Here, let me show you.”

He held out his palm. Feeling his cheeks burning with shame, Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s. He squirmed, eyes looking anywhere but Merlin and his hand. His stomach squiggled like those hoppy things when caught, and he began to sweat.

“Look, people in friendly relationships hold hands like this,”

He held Arthur’s palm, in a normal hand hold. Arthur forced himself to look.

Merlin then entwined his fingers in Arthur’s, though Arthur could feel a sudden tension radiate from him. “and…you know, lovers hold hands like this,” he muttered, waving the entwined hands to emphasize.

“Alright, alright!” Arthur hissed, wrenching his hand away, staring at Merlin coldly, but instantly feeling awful when he saw the look on his face.

Merlin looked uncomfortably at his toes, rubbing his neck hard. “Arthur, if this is like, seriously against your culture, I can respect that,” he said in a voice that said otherwise.

“No! It’s my culture now too! I don’t ever want to live like I did in the City again!” Arthur said in a voice louder than he had expected, causing Merlin to jump.

Arthur sighed, and took Merlin’s hand, careful to keep his fingers away from his. “I’m sorry, Merlin,” he said.

“No need to apologize,”

“There is,” Arthur argued, “this whole thing has just been ‘holy crap, I’m feeling Warm Emotions, I feel great,’ and without any warning going straight back to ‘fuck all of you, I’m feeling Cold Emotions again and I hate all of you why the fuck did I leave?!’

Merlin looked at him, his expression understanding. “That’s what I’m here to help you with, Arthur.”

Arthur perked up. “You’re going to help me get rid of my Cold Emotions?”

Merlin shook his head, eyebrow raising. “No, why would I do that?” he asked, shocked.

Arthur blinked, confused. “Because Cold Emotions are awful! Look at how they’re making me treat you! Look at what they made me do earlier!” He mimed throttling someone midair.

Merlin shook his head once more, tugging on his hand to lead Arthur on. Arthur followed, looking about at the new sights before him. He felt an irrational fear in his stomach, for all about him there was nothing but the unknown. Merlin’s voice was something known, so he focused on it instead.

“Getting rid of your Cold Emotions would be bad, Arthur, just like getting rid of your Warm Emotions at a young age damaged you so much. You see, Warm Emotions and Cold Emotions cannot live without each other. They’re like the heart and the brain. They each require the other to function properly.

“You need Cold Emotions to feel Warm Emotions. How would you know you’re placated if you never feel anger? How would you know you’re experiencing doubt if you’re doubtless? How can you truly be aware of your curiosity if you never knew what disinterest felt like? Do you understand?”

“…Sort of…”

“This is all new to you, I know. But it will all make sense later. What you need to know is that Warm Emotions and Cold Emotions are symbiotic. They need each other to survive.”

Arthur blinked, his mouth slightly open as he thought. “…Then how am I alive? How is anyone at the City alive?”

He heard Merlin puff through his nose, his face thoughtful. “…I don’t know very much about your City, but from what I can tell, you and your people aren’t totally void of Warm Emotions. From what I can figure, your Warm Emotions are merely numbed, as if someone put a heavy sedative on them. But they’re still there. You and your people know the names of each and every Warm Emotion-”

“But I don’t!” Arthur contradicted.

“You do,” Merlin argued, “there is no limit to our knowledge. Inside our heads, we know everything. All knowledge is at our disposal, only it has been numbed over, like your Warm Emotions. Learning is merely the coaxing of knowledge you already have, pushing what you know out of the darkness and into the light,”

“You know everything you’ll ever need to know, except it is hidden, just out of your grasp. You need a hand to guide you, a voice to aid you as you unearth the knowledge that is deep within you, deep within us all.

“Do you understand?”

Arthur stared at Merlin, unable to form words.

Merlin chuckled. “I guess not. Don’t worry, you’ll understand at some point.”

Arthur shook his head. “No! I think I do! Learning’s a form of Correction, right? It’s like someone poking around your brain so you understand, or, uh…you know, feel a certain way, or in a new way…I think…” he trailed off.

Merlin nodded. “You can say that,” he said.

“You’re like…crazy smart.” Arthur gasped. Merlin was talking like the headmistress of Arthur’s school, and she was a wizened woman with many years of learning to her credit. Did having Warm Emotions instantly make you smarter?

Merlin laughed, and looked away modestly. “No, no, just accidentally wise. Come, there’s a lot we have to do.”

Arthur took the silence as an opportunity to look at his surroundings. Merlin’s village was small compared to Arthur’s city, but it had an aura that appealed to him. The houses were rustic and made of wood, with thatched roofs. Beneath their feet was hard, packed dirt, with ruts where carts ran. Packed paths ran up to each house. There was grass next to the houses and around them, and some of these grasses had wildflowers.

The air was so clean it felt like a sin. It felt so good and unlawful in his lungs, in his blood. He felt like his vision was clearer, that his blood ran freer. He felt like his hair was wild, like his muscles were relaxed. He felt like his very heart was healthier. He felt _better._

The afternoon sun shone down on the inhabitants of the village. All of them had the sharp teeth, the black nails, the odd eyes. As he looked around, he saw that Merlin had been right; there was not another blonde haired person here. They all had brown, black, red, or white hair. Some had even dyed their hair in garish colors. But he was the only blonde, and he suddenly felt very insecure, for the Deities were beginning to notice him.

Though they seemed friendly, they still registered as a threat in Arthur’s eyes. For sixteen years he had been taught that these people were to be avoided, so his brain was still wrestling with the idea that they were not at all as devilish as they were always made out to be. He stared at them distrustfully, fighting back the urge to bare his teeth. _No, they’ll think you an animal,_ he thought to himself.

He burned with shame. He was nothing like these people. With his blonde hair and flat teeth and strange eyes, he felt like an outsider. They weren’t the strange ones: _he was._ Everything felt wrong; his clothes, his shoes, his appearance. He didn’t even need to growl to be labeled as different, an animal.

He pressed closer to Merlin. “Merlin, they’re all staring at me,” he whispered, suddenly unable to hold eye contact with anyone.

Merlin squeezed his hand, and turned his head to look at him. Arthur felt tiny next to him. Merlin held himself with pride and confidence, and it didn’t help that Arthur was a few inches shorter than him. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “they won’t harm you. They’re only staring because they know you’re different. They’ve never seen anyone like you before.”

Arthur’s heart sank. He wasn’t comforted at all.

Merlin pulled him away from the new sights and sounds deeper into Ascetir. There was a small path leading away from the village. It was not as worn as the others, and it was rockier. Arthur’s sneakers crunched on the pebbles, and he looked around.

Soon, they were in a small clearing. The path ended, and nothing but a small expanse of grass, fallen leaves, and sticks littered the ground. A few rays of sun broke through the leaf cover, and warbling notes of birds Arthur did not recognize filtered down.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Merlin said, letting Arthur’s hand go and taking off his bag. Arthur’s hand felt cold, but he stuffed it into his sweatshirt pocket. He looked around, admiring the huge trees and moss.

“What kind of birds are those?” Arthur asked, looking into the trees in an attempt to find the source of the singing.

“That’s a robin redbreast. But you’ll learn all that later. Come now, take a seat, it’s time for your training to begin.”

 

* * *

 

Merlin sat at the base of a huge tree, (it’s an oak Arthur, but please listen to me, what type of tree this is isn’t relevant right now,) his bag open. He plucked out a few bottles, shook his head and put them back, and pulled out others. After a few minutes of grumbling, he had four bottles on the grass before him. Arthur stomped himself a little nest to sit in just as he had done on his journey, and sat down.

“OK,” Merlin purred, shifting himself so that he was comfortable. His eyes glowed in the sunlight shining on his face.

“Yes,’ Arthur said, looking at him expectantly.

“Now, as I explained, your Warm Emotions are numbed down. They made it so you cannot feel them. That’s what that scar’s from, right?”

Arthur blinked, and instinctively rubbed his scar. He felt it jut out on his skin. “Yeah, Correction’s what it’s called. It’s when they make it so you can’t feel Warm Emotions. They gave it to you if you kept on showing Warm Emotions as you grew up.”

Merlin smiled. “Couldn’t keep you down, could they?” he asked.

Arthur blinked, and then grinned. He laughed quietly. He had never thought of it that way before. He always considered being Warm after Correction to be a bad thing. Now, Merlin made him think in a new light. Merlin was making him think that he had survived an almost insurmountable period of his life, making him think he was a brave warrior returning home from battle.

“I daresay you know the names of the Cold Emotions, and that you felt them all?” Merlin asked, drawing his knees up to his chin, looking at Arthur with serious eyes. He reminded Arthur of a therapist, taking notes on a mental patient.

“I guess,”

“You know anger. That we know from experience. As well as rage. What about…uh...cruelty?”

“I know that,”

“Stubbornness?”

“Yes,”

“Argumentativeness?”

“…Yes,”

“Confidence, what about that?”

“Uh huh,”

Merlin went on, listing just about all the Cold Emotions Arthur had ever learned. Arthur knew them all, he had felt them all.

Merlin nodded after a few minutes of spouting out any Cold Emotion he could think of. “Alright. You seem very well versed in Cold Emotions. Now, think hard, and tell me all the Warm Emotions you know, regardless of you experiencing them or not,” Merlin ordered, playing with the beads on his bag.

Arthur closed his eyes, thinking hard. His mind went blank, naturally, and he felt a flush creep through him.

“Uh…peace…”

“Go on,” Merlin said

“Happiness…” his face lit up. “Joy! Empathy, excitement, hope, love!” he said, mind beginning to race.

Merlin nodded, excited.

“Delight! Curiosity…Uh…Good! Wonderful! Beautiful!” he chattered, mind starting to splutter to a stop.

Merlin chuffed. “…Well, those last three aren’t really emotions. But that’s OK. Anything else?” he asked, eyes bright and smiling at Arthur’s enthusiasm.

Arthur blinked, scratching an itch on his arm. He shook his head.

Merlin’s face suddenly grew serious. “Arthur, I want to let you know now that not all Warm Emotions are good. You know that,”

“I do?”

“Yes. Think about Morgana.”

A stab of pain came as fast as he had babbled all of his known Warm Emotions. Arthur suddenly felt his eyes go hot, and he swallowed hard. A heaviness in his chest pulled on his smile, turning it into a frown. He thought about her face, and her water bottle, and her last, painful words… _D’you want some water?_

“What do you feel?” Merlin asked quietly, so quiet that Arthur could barely hear him.

Arthur didn’t say anything. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t like it at all, though,” he whispered, drawing his knees up to his chin like Merlin, only much less comfortably.

“I reckon you’re feeling grief, or sadness.” Merlin said pityingly.

“Those don’t sound good.” Arthur muttered, not looking up.

“They’re not. Here, we got to cheer you up in order for me to begin,”

Arthur felt like he could never be happy again. Morgana lay in the back of his mind, quietly asking whether or not he was thirsty. Just looking at her water bottle, or thinking about her made him want to cry.

“Look at me, Arthur,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur looked up, and Merlin began to sing again. This time, it was different. It was brighter in tone, and it was loud, boisterous. It was like the babbling talk of the villagers, the screeching of children chasing one another. It was like a smile turned into a vocalization, and he instantly felt his heart quicken and a smile form on his face.

A gas just like the pink tendrils of peace began to emerge from Merlin’s mouth. Arthur blinked as registered this bizarre sight, and Gaius’s words came rushing back to him: _Merlin can produce emotions out of his singing_.

Just as the peace had enveloped him before, the orange gas tangled around him. He laughed, swatting at it playfully with his fingers. It tickled him like a tease, and flickered through his hair. All the while, Merlin’s clear and warbling voice floated in his ears. Breathing in, Arthur felt that strange sensation in his lungs as the emotion was pushed into his bloodstream and to every single cell in his body.

His eyes popped open. He felt a huge urge to smile, and he began to fidget. He giggled, looking at Merlin with wide eyes, only to discover that the emotion he felt was mirrored on Merlin’s features. They sat there, grinning dumbly, until Arthur spoke.

“What was that?” He asked, wriggling with this new emotion. Oh, how wonderful it felt! He felt a segment of his brain light up like a fire, only this fire wasn’t dangerous. This fire was quite the opposite; he needed it. A strange sensation flared in his chest, and his heart fluttered.

Merlin laughed. “That was happiness. Feel very carefully, Arthur, and remember it,”

“How can I forget this?” Arthur said, breaking into another stream of laughter. He looked at the sky, and breathed in the chilled air. He threw himself back on the grass, enjoying the prickling on his skin. He savored the happiness flowing through him, and he knew that this was the best emotion in the world. He could live on happiness. It could sustain him like food and drink.

“Sit up, Arthur, and listen to me,” Merlin ordered, “I’m going to explain how this works.”

Arthur sat up eagerly, looking at Merlin. His eyes were shining with what he knew now to be happiness and sunlight. Just looking at Merlin made a flame of happiness rear in his chest. Those eyes that once scared him made him happy, happy, happy.

Merlin watched as Arthur wriggled where he sat, his strange, flat teeth showing themselves in a harmless way. He preferred this laughing, happy Arthur to the homicidal, enraged one he had encountered earlier. The way Arthur was looking at him now made him confirm that no more hard feelings were between them.

“Do you remember what I told you earlier, about how you know everything you need to know, only that it has been numbed? That you are fully capable of feeling Warm Emotions?” He asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said cheerfully, “you said that learning was basically brining out that knowledge and those emotions,”

“Correct. What you’re doing now is learning the Warm Emotions,” Merlin said. “By making you experience happiness, I've essentially taken away the numbness. I've brought your knowledge of happiness into the light. I’m…well, I’m not _training_ you to feel Warm Emotions…”

“I understand what you mean. You’re teaching me, that’s all!” Arthur said in a happy voice, but a hint of sharpness was buried in his tone.

Merlin nodded quickly. “Precisely. Now that I taught you happiness, you should be able to feel it on your own. You won’t need me to magic it for you. It’s like learning to walk; once you are taught how to do it, you don’t need someone to lean on anymore. You can do it freely.”

Arthur blinked, looking off in the distance. He nodded slowly, and comprehension dawned on him. He nodded vigorously. “Yeah! I get it!” He cried out, smiling widely.

Merlin smiled back. “Good. Now this next emotion is called _curiosity…”_

* * *

 

The afternoon sun that watched over the forest watched over Arthur and Merlin’s antics with interest. As it sank lower and lower towards the ground, Merlin and Arthur pranced around their clearing. Arthur was evidently a person who expressed himself with motion, so at times when he was dosed with various emotions, he could be seen running, leaping, jumping, and bounding around, his mouth open wide to screech, scream, laugh, and sing.

Merlin, although glad that Arthur was feeling so well, was also annoyed. He often had to chase Arthur around and around, tackling him to the ground to prevent him from doing rash things. When Arthur was dosed with recklessness, he had wanted to climb the highest tree in the clearing and jump from a branch. Merlin had to practically lie on top of him to pin him to the ground while he quickly worked up a dose of peace to calm him, and that was difficult as Arthur, despite his starved appearance, was strong and quite high on recklessness.

It was also hard to not breathe in his own emotional creations, so oftentimes Merlin felt just as happy, curious, or reckless as Arthur did. They had wasted a good hour wondering why leaves were green when they both had a taste of curiosity. Merlin, having a firmer control of his emotions, usually snapped out of his daze first.

“OK! OK! Arthur, that’s enough!” He called out finally as Arthur sprinted around the clearing. The blonde boy was feeling the residue of all the new emotions, and he was beginning to produce his own. Merlin could see that, because hours after he had first introduced Arthur to happiness, he saw it stretched on his features.

Dirt spattered and out of breath, Arthur flew over to him. His eyes were dancing unlike Merlin had ever seen them dance before. Although his eyes were something strange to Merlin, he had to admit that they showed emotion much more than Merlin’s own did. His pupils contracted or dilated based on what he was feeling, and his eyes color changed shades sometimes. And those whites were quite unusual, but Merlin could spend a long time just looking at them, getting used to their uniqueness. There certainly wasn’t another pair like them in the village.

Arthur bumped into Merlin, neglecting to brake. His exhalations came out as giggles, and he squeezed Merlin’s shoulders, shaking them slightly. His face was alight with happiness.

“Merlin, I’m happy!” He said excitedly, barely containing his emotions.

Merlin felt a small flush of pride in his chest. Arthur had only been subjected to three emotions today, happiness, curiosity, and recklessness, and he was already beginning to act like anyone else in Merlin’s village, minus the whole jumping around and screaming bit. Not a trace of Cold Emotions could be seen in his expression, but Merlin knew all too well that they were there beneath the surface.

“I’m happy too! You’ve done very well today,” Merlin said, gently prying Arthur’s hands off his shoulder, as his grip was beginning to hurt.

Arthur giggled, and then threw his head back to release a slightly alarming yet delighted screech. Merlin jumped.

“OK! Arthur, please calm down!” Merlin called, grabbing his elbow before he ran off again, “I’m going to have to put you on a picket line!”

“What’s a picket line?” Arthur said, coming back to earth.

Merlin blinked. It was still hard to grasp that Arthur knew nothing about living Outside. Imagine, someone his age not knowing what a picket line was!

“It’s something you tie a horse to so they don’t run away, but they still can move around,” Merlin explained in a calm voice, hoping his peaceful actions would influence Arthur and calm him down as well.

“A horse?” Arthur asked in a questioning tone.

“It’s…well, I’ll show you at some point,”

Arthur let out a huge sigh of contentment, and watched Merlin as he stuffed empty bottles into his bag. “We’re done?” he asked, feeling a pang similar to the one he felt when he thought of Morgana. What was it? _Sadness._

Merlin nodded. “I don’t want to give you anything else, lest you start tearing through the forest, screaming your head off. Besides, aren’t you tired?”

As soon as Merlin said the first syllable of ‘tired’, Arthur felt a wave of exhaustion hit him. It was as surprising as a sudden gale of wind. He staggered a bit, and nodded. But he still felt happy.

“Good, because I am too. Let’s get you back to Gaius; he’ll check to see you’re healthy, and then we can eat,” Merlin said, shouldering his bag and extending his hand. He grinned when Arthur took it with little complaint, and they started to walk out of the clearing.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, Arthur looked at the clearing and felt a huge wave of peace and happiness flow through him. It was simply beautiful; the evening sunlight filtered through the green leaves above, and a gentle breeze stirred the grass. Evening birdsong filled the air, as well as the whisper of grass.

_This is what peace must look like,_ Arthur thought.

He grinned to himself, and squeezed Merlin’s hand. He saw Merlin smile out of the corner of his eye. _And that’s what happiness must look like._

For the first time in his life, Arthur realized that Warm Emotions were not meant to be avoided or feared; they were meant to be welcomed and embraced. He no longer felt wrong, he no longer felt broken. He felt _… _wonderful.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sniffs deeply* DO I SMELL GAY?!?!?!?  
> I'm basically posting a metric fuckton of chapters today because I am going to be busy doing busy things this week and won't have much time to, so I say let's get the gay here as quickly as possible.  
> As always, feel free to message me with...oh you know how this works by now.


	12. "You Sacrificed Your Emotional Wellbeing for His"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn that Merlin can't give away Warm Emotions as freely as Oprah Winfrey gives away cars.

Arthur had a hard time choosing which time of day Ascetir looked the prettiest; noon, or evening. Just when he thought nothing could be even more beautiful, Ascetir became a beacon of beauty. The sun could be seen through the trees, hovering just above the ground. Its shape was distorted, looking as though it was bleeding onto the forest. Great splashes of red and pink color bathed the forest in a warm light, coloring the village and its inhabitants in such a way that Arthur felt faint just looking at it. The City had been nothing but grey, white, and black. Here, the colors of the rainbow were constantly present.

Arthur staggered along, barely moving as he looked around. Merlin, although hungry and tired, slowed his pace until they were only taking a step or two every few seconds. Arthur’s mouth was slightly open, his eyes huge as he looked around. His eyes feasted on the sights before him, previously starved of anything pleasing and colorful. His strange eyes were so expressive; Merlin could practically read his eyes like a book and see what he was feeling.

Arthur asked so many questions, and many of them Merlin could not answer. (‘Why is the sunset all colorful, Merlin?’ ‘I’m not sure,’ ‘Does the sun move around us or do we move around the sun?’ ‘I don’t know,’ ‘Why would anyone think that living here is such a sin?’ ‘I don’t understand that either,’)

The first time Arthur saw a horse he reverted back to his animalistic fear. The farmers were coming back from their fields, their horses sweaty and exhausted from a day’s work with a plow. Their tails flicking to keep away bugs, they whickered to one another, taking no notice of anyone around them.

Merlin, quite used to seeing horses, forgot all about Arthur’s inexperience until he heard a low growl interrupt his explanation on why trees had bark. He felt the pressure of Arthur’s hand increase, and a startling tension radiated off Arthur. He quickly looked over, and saw Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling. His gaze was piercing a nearby team of horses, one a palomino and the other a pinto.

“It’s OK, Arthur,” Merlin said quickly, pulling Arthur to the side of the path with a jerk of his arm, hastily waving to the farmer who hailed him from his wagon.

“What were _those?!_ ” Arthur growled, pawing the ground nervously. He was frightening to look at; his shoulders arched and his jaw clenched firmly shut, he looked intimidating. His eyebrows lined his searing glare, and his muscles bunched.

Again, Merlin wondered whether or not Arthur _was_ like him. Arthur was so fierce and quick to be aggressive. He was so different, so _Cold!_ He behaved exactly like a wild stallion did when he was cornered; he bucked, reared, and snarled, his teeth bared and lashing out against all who came near him.

Again, Merlin wondered whether or not Arthur was indeed a threat to the village, a threat to himself. Perhaps he could never be taught Warm Emotions. Perhaps he was already too damaged to be taught. Perhaps there was no teaching an old dog new tricks…

“Merlin?”

Merlin blinked, and turned to see Arthur looking at him questioningly, eyeing another team of horses out of the corner of his strange, blue eyes.

“Uh, those were horses,” Merlin said quickly, clearing his throat.

Arthur’s aggression disappeared at once, and he was transformed into an entirely different person. It was confusing. He looked like any other Deity. His snarl unfurled into a grin. “Really?” he asked.

Merlin nodded. “Yes, now come on, I’m hungry,”

Arthur smiled, still watching the horses toddle along the path. “Yeah, me too,” he said, pulling Merlin along.

They walked back to Gaius’s place, Arthur talking as though he was a normal villager. Any trace of animalistic traits were gone. He asked questions a mile a minute, not really waiting for an answer, which was a good thing as Merlin didn’t respond to them.

Merlin listened only partly to Arthur’s questions. He was beginning to feel the side effects of producing emotions before he was ready; he felt very…empty. A chill he could not warm spread through his body, but he ignored it, for Gaius was waiting for them.

“So, how was your day?” he asked, a small smile on his face as he saw Arthur bouncing around, the very vision of happiness.

“Great! I learned so many new things…” Arthur said, talking to Gaius like an old friend, all hostility forgotten.

“Hello, dear,” a quiet voice said behind Merlin.

His heart leapt, and he turned. “Mother!” he cried, the shiver in his skin gone as he embraced her. She smiled up at him, her eyes warm.

Merlin smiled, though halfheartedly. The effects were beginning to take their toll, and he suddenly felt the urge to be left alone.

“What’s wrong?” his mother, Hunith, asked, detecting something off about his attitude right away.

There was a sudden quietness to Merlin’s right. Arthur had noticed Hunith, and had shut up at once. His eyes flickering between her and his feet, he shuffled nervously. Merlin knew that he was being shy, but he doubted whether Arthur knew he was being shy. However, it was better than staring at her like she was a danger.

Hunith’s soft gaze met Arthur’s shifty one, and she smiled at him in a maternal way. Arthur smiled back, but did not make eye contact. Hunith turned to Merlin, her expression questioning. Obviously, she had taken in Arthur’s bizarre appearance and was wondering who he was.

“Uh, this is Arthur, mother,” Merlin stammered, gesturing towards Arthur, who seemed to be forcing himself to make eye contact. His cheeks and ears were red.

“Hello, sweetie,” Hunith said, embracing Arthur with her kindness and lovingness. Arthur’s tension left him immediately. He grinned widely, nodding wordlessly. “So…you’re Merlin’s mom?” He asked.

She nodded, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Under her spell, Arthur didn’t even flinch. They began to chat at once, and they walked into the house before them, leaving Gaius and Merlin alone. Gaius rounded on him as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Well?” he asked, his eyebrow raised and his gaze searching.

Merlin shrugged his shoulders. Suddenly, the happiness on seeing his mother and Arthur getting on so well so quickly crashed around him. He felt a vast emptiness inside him, and suddenly the world seemed to be a terrifying place. Biting his lip, he shook his head, careful to not look Gaius in the eye.

Gaius waited for Merlin to speak. “No,” Merlin managed to say, his throat swelling. He rubbed his chin vigorously, trying hard to take deep, even breaths.

Gaius made a tutting noise. “I warned you about this, Merlin,” he said gently.

Merlin nodded, ashamed. Why hadn’t he listened to Gaius? He was drained of all happiness. Surely he was only a shell of a Deity now. Was this how people in the City felt all the time? Was this what it was like to be Arthur, aware of Warm Emotions but perpetually being Cold?

“Gaius…” He whimpered, not knowing where to look. A huge wave of sadness and despair crashed down on him, and his vision blurred with tears. He sighed as Gaius hugged him tight.

“It’s alright, Merlin. You know this won’t last long,” Gaius said.

Merlin nodded, his head in Gaius’s shoulder. “I just…I feel like I’ll never be happy again,” he whispered, his throat tight.

“That’s because you gave Arthur all of your happiness. You sacrificed your emotional wellbeing for his. You know this.” Gaius said.

Merlin pulled away, a rush of gratitude for the old man coursing through him. He wiped a tear away, and grinned reassuringly at Gaius. The old Deity patted his shoulder.

“Are you going to tell Arthur about how this _training_ affects you?” Gaius asked.

Merlin shook his head, eyes huge. “No!” he cried softly. “Because if I do, he’ll want to stop! And he _can’t_ stop until he has all of his Warm Emotions! He can’t _ever_ know, or else he’ll wish we never went through with this! You _mustn’t_ tell him!”

Gaius nodded, taking in Merlin’s anxious expression. “You know I wouldn’t do that, Merlin,” he said.

Merlin nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Gaius,” he said in a clear voice, nodding once more and turning into the doorway, Gaius following.

Gaius briefly inspected Arthur, who could scarcely keep still, and pronounced him healthy enough to not have to stay the night again. Arthur kept smiling at Merlin, slowly raising his spirits. It would take the young warlock a while to produce a new supply of happiness. But watching Arthur devour his meal with gusto and delight made a glimmer of a smile alight on his mouth.

“What are those little things that hop around in the grass?” Arthur asked the room at large suddenly. He looked up from his potatoes, looking at them each in turn.

“What do you mean, what things that hop?” Hunith asked, confused. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She looked at Merlin with a cocked eyebrow.

“Explain yourself, boy,” Gaius grunted gruffly.

Arthur got up, and padded over to his bed. He brought back his bag, and dug through it. A few strands of grass fell from it, and he pulled out something. Opening his palm, he showed the Deities the squashed carcass of the ‘hoppy thing’.

“…Why do you have a smashed grasshopper in your bag?” Merlin asked, puzzled.

“I ate them,” Arthur said.

“You _ate_ them?!” Hunith gasped, taking the bag out of Arthur’s hands and going to the door to dispose of the grasshoppers inside.

Arthur flushed red, embarrassed. He looked to the ground.

“I assume you had to, right?” Merlin asked, shooting a glare at his mother.

Arthur nodded, smiling gratefully. “Yeah. And grass,” he said, sweeping up the stray strands off the ground.

Hunith merely clenched her mouth shut and shoveled more potatoes onto Arthur’s plate. Merlin was amazed; imagine living on grass! Arthur really was like a horse.

They ate in peace, the talking interrupted sometime by deep silences as Arthur looked around the house or out the window. Merlin felt his happiness replenishing with every second he spent looking at the happiness on Arthur’s face. Really, it was worth giving all his happiness away so that Arthur could feel for the first time in his life.

He told Hunith so when she pulled him aside after dinner, Gaius teaching Arthur how to wash up. Soon, they were quite alone as Gaius and Arthur went to the washtub behind the house, carrying armloads of dirty cutlery and plates.

“Please, Merlin, tell me if you’re OK? I know how your father was when he took on his duties before he was ready…” She whispered even though the other two were well out of earshot.

Merlin shrugged. “I’m not feeling very well, exactly…but…”

He looked off to the back door, which stood ajar, the last rays of the sun and Arthur’s and Gaius’s voices drifting in. Arthur’s questioning voice and Gaius’s slightly-annoyed huffs could be heard, and Merlin smiled.

“It’s well worth it,” He said finally, looking down at his mother’s kind face.

She too smiled, a look of pride and reminiscence on her face. “You’re much like your father.” she said softly, cupping Merlin’s face with her hands. “I remember he used his powers before he was ready, when we were teenagers…It would hurt him so much, but he cared more about everyone else’s wellbeing than his own. He was a noble man.”

Merlin nodded sadly, feeling a small pang of sadness as he remembered his father, who had passed on years before, leaving his warlock duties to his only son, Merlin.

“You remind me of him,” Hunith continued, picking leaves and bits of grass out of his hair leftover from the day’s antics, “you’re beginning to look like him,” she said.

Merlin laughed. “You think so?”

Hunith nodded. “I know so.” She said, looking towards the back door as it creaked open.

“Silly boy…why did you have to go break a plate? One of my finest too…” Gaius grumbled, shards of a broken plate in his gnarled hands.

Arthur came up close behind. “You flicked water at me! You _made_ me do it!” He hissed, his glowing eyes betraying his look of bitterness.

All thoughts of his Merlin’s suffering left him; using his abilities to help someone so in need was worth anything. There was something different about Arthur. Although he had never seen anyone of his kind before, Merlin knew that Arthur was different. He had a heart, a sense of caring no one could eradicate. He saw it when he had infused Arthur with guilt after the boy had attacked him. And deep beneath the ice, there was a fire that was slowly beginning to build, a fire that Merlin prodded whenever he gave Arthur new emotions, emotions that brought him back to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROS OF BEING A WARLOCK, THE DEITY'S BOTTLES EDITION:  
> -You get these badass markings all over your chest, fingers, and toes  
> -You can create emotions out of singing like hOW COOL IS THAT   
> -You get to help people  
> -You get bragging rights  
> -You get to help out this really hot blonde person from god-knows-where but who cares he's cute
> 
> CONS OF BEING A WARLOCK, THE DEITY'S BOTTLES EDITION:  
> -You have to carry around a bag with many clinking bottles in it and everyone assumes you're an alcoholic  
> -You get emotionally drained and all you want to do is curl up in a corner and die  
> -You can't let the cute blonde person from god-knows-where know that you're feeling like this
> 
> Things that go through my mind constantly. But thanks for all of your support! You know the drill.


	13. One of Their Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brevity is the soul of wit, but your content does have to be at least 10 characters long and contain at least a few paragraphs of homosexual interaction between the main characters.

It didn’t take long for the other Deities to get used to Arthur’s odd presence. They soon stopped staring at the tall boy who walked with a strange manner, and oftentimes talked in a sharp and blunt fashion. His hair, once a source of confusion, became a source of awe. One time as he was accompanying Merlin down the street, several small Deities walked timidly up to them.

“Hello, little ones,” Merlin had said at once, his face soft and kind. Instantly, he had knelt down, his famous kindness showing itself at once. The young Deities no longer looked at him with fear. They grinned.

“Can we…Can we…” One had stammered, a little girl. She looked at Arthur, who had knelt down when Merlin tugged on the cloth pants Hunith had made for him.

“Can you what?” Arthur had asked, curious but not in an unfriendly way.

The small boy had scuffed the ground with his toes. “…Touch your hair?” he had asked, eyes huge.

“My hair?” Arthur had asked, confused. He then cocked an eyebrow at Merlin, a crooked grin on his face. Merlin felt a swooping sensation in his gut as Arthur winked softly at him, his tongue making a clucking noise. “I don’t see why not,” he said, bowing his head.

The children had laughed gleefully, petting the strange blonde locks and making an absolute crow’s nest of Arthur’s head. The chattered happily.

“It’s like straw!” The boy had said.

“Are you a palomino pony?” The little girl breathed, stroking Arthur’s hair like a horse’s mane.

Arthur had looked up, and did his best impression of a pony whickering. He fluttered his lips, snuffling through his nose. Merlin had brought a hand up to his face to cover the smile breaking out on his lips. He snorted with laughter, but managed to pass it off as a rather violent sneeze.

The children then screeched with laughter, hopping up and down excitedly.

“He is! He is a pony!” the boy had shouted.

“A pony with a red shirt!” The little girl had laughed, hugging Arthur tight around the neck. Arthur’s face glowed, and he let out a horse-like neigh followed by more childish laughter.

The children had bounced back to their mothers after saying goodbye, shouting about Arthur and the fact that he was secretly a pony.

“They aren’t even afraid of me anymore!” Arthur had said, taking Merlin’s hand again.

Merlin couldn’t stand it any longer. He had snorted, and squeezed his mouth with his hand. He tried to breathe deeply, but he couldn’t. Arthur’s wild hair, along with his neigh bounced around his head.

“What?” Arthur had asked, his eyes bugging out of his head as he riled his hair more in an attempt to make Merlin laugh.

Merlin had then exploded into a great bout of laughter that could be heard throughout the village.

“A pony! A pony! Arthur’s a pony!” He had screeched, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. He looked at his friend teasingly.

“I am not!” Arthur had protested, flattening his hair and fighting off a grin.

Merlin impersonated Arthur’s whicker, pulling a ridiculous expression as he did so. He couldn’t even speak, so doubled over with mirth was he.

And Arthur had chased him up the street, yelling at him to stop while Merlin whooped, neighed, and whickered, and all the while singing ‘ _Arthur’s a pony! Arthur’s a pony!’_ in a singsong, taunting voice.

Other Deities were fascinated with his eyes. One young girl Deity with pretty, dark locks had stopped her washing one day as Arthur passed, looking at his strange eyes.

“You’re Arthur, aren’t you?” she called, and Arthur came over. He had been carrying a handful of some plants, as well as a small book identifying herbs.

“I am,” Arthur had said, looking at her curiously.

The girl smiled, eyes wide. “Everyone’s talking about you, you know,” she had whispered, looking up and down the street. Her eyes were brown and soft.

“Are they?” Arthur had asked, also looking up and down the street, his eyes narrowed as if he was searching for the offenders. The girl looked nervous at his expression, but he winked. She snorted.

“Oh, yeah. They all said that you…well…” She nodded to his hair and his nails.

“That I looked funny? Village loon?” Arthur had said, his voice good natured.

The girl shook her head, her eyes expressive. “No…Well, yes, but not the village loon! Everyone knows your story! How you escaped the City, and how Merlin found you and took you here, and how that you once were only Cold!”

Arthur had blinked, and shrugged, rubbing his neck modestly.

“Everyone thinks you’re a bit of a hero.” said she, folding a shirt.

And that had meant everything in the world to Arthur.

“Really? Even though I look like I do?” he asked.

The girl had scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, we don’t care what you look like! You could have horns and a forked tongue and I wouldn't have cared less. I think you look quite nice, actually…” she said, blinking boldly.

Arthur flushed red, his mouth fumbling for words.

“Arthur?”

The girl and Arthur had turned, and found Merlin looking up and down the street. Arthur then felt his head go light when he saw him. His black hair was whipped in the wind, his cheekbones pronounced in the afternoon sun. He looked over, and saw Arthur. His face had lit up, and Arthur felt the familiar gush of happiness in his veins.

“Hello, Freya,” Merlin had said, inclining his head politely to the girl. She greeted him back, looking at Arthur.

Merlin had turned to Arthur, barely noticing his blush. “Got the herbs? Gaius will rip our heads off if we don’t come back with it soon.”

Arthur hadn’t listened. He was too busy thinking about how the Deities had accepted him as their own, after weeks and weeks of staring and whispers. He had smiled to himself as Merlin took his hand, waving to the girl, Freya, as the warlock dragged him to Gaius.

“Merlin,” Arthur said.

“Yes?” said Merlin, walking around a pile of horse dung.

“I think people are starting to like me,” he breathed.

Merlin grinned. “Well of course they like you, Arthur.”

Arthur had blinked, surprised.

“It’s hard to _not_ like a pony,” Merlin whispered.

Had Arthur not been through vigorous Warm Emotion training with Merlin, he would perhaps had lashed out at his friend. But he was well aware that Merlin was joking. He playfully swatted at him with his free hand, his smile shining on his dirty face as they laughed.

* * *

 

Yes, as the weeks passed, Arthur not only grew more and more likeable, but he also developed a greater control on his emotions. Despite Merlin neighing at him from hidden places at times when he wandered the village, he was happier than he had ever been in his life. He was growing more and more knowledgeable of Warm Emotions.

Merlin had taught him many more emotions since their first day of training. They trained once every three days, for Merlin said he didn’t want Arthur to have what he called and ‘emotional overload’. And so, every three days they would go to their clearing alert and ready to learn, and leave exhausted yet pleased with their work.

Merlin taught Arthur three new emotions a session. Either uncorking one of his many bottled emotions or creating fresh ones from his mouth, Arthur’s brain became less and less numb. He was beginning to lose the emptiness he felt nearly all the time in the City, the emptiness he had to act like he had around his family when Warm Emotions were in fact prowling around his heart.

After happiness, recklessness, and curiosity came terror, anxiousness, and hope. Merlin planned to end their sessions with a good Warm Emotion, so that Arthur was not an emotional wreck when they went home for dinner. Arthur soon learned that Warm Emotions were indeed not all good, just as Merlin had said.

Merlin did not keep bad Warm Emotions on him, for the people who sought his aid usually needed something to calm their anxiety or ease their melancholy. No one ever _wanted_ anxiety or depression, so he had to produce his own.

Merlin had to produce his own terror. He sat down at the base of his oak tree, playing with the fabric of his shorts. He hummed quietly at first, as if digging around his mind for the emotion.

Then, he began to sing. Arthur, expecting his beautiful singing, was in for a shock. Merlin’s voice changed with each emotion he sang. Terror was…well… _terrifying._ The haze Arthur had been expecting filtered over his mind, but it was so different from peace. He felt his body stiffen, and he felt the desire to run. His blood pounded through his veins, and all of his hairs were shrieking on his skin. He thought fear was terrible, but no. Terror was like the fear of death. Terror was the name of the emotion he felt by the creek when he thought he was dying.

He looked at Merlin, and he cried out. Through the scarlet mist of the emotion that felt like pins being insert in his skin when it touched him, Merlin was a source of fear. To Arthur, his sharp teeth looked even longer. His eyes seemed to glow in a reddish haze, and his voice was harsh and barking. Arthur let out a screech, and scrambled away as fast as he could. He had to get back to the village!

All fight was gone from him as he staggered to his feet, away from Merlin, away from the person he had grown so close to. _Run. Run. Run!_ his body told him, and run he did.

He tripped, for Merlin had thrust a stick out at his feet. Arthur’s vision still blinded by the red mist. He turned, and saw Merlin running towards him. His face was twisted in rage, relishing in the fear Arthur was feeling.

Merlin pounced, his weight crushing Arthur. Arthur screamed louder, and thrashed as hard as he could, trying anything to get away. He pounded Merlin with fists, and kicked at him with his sneakers.

“ _Get off me! Let me go!”_ Arthur screamed, his throat constricting violently.

“Arthur! Arthur, it’s me, it’s Merlin!” Merlin roared above him. The clinking of bottles sounded like the scraping of knives in Arthur’s ears.

Arthur lunged at his aggressor with his teeth. He found flesh, and bit down hard, warm wetness bursting in his mouth. Merlin screamed horribly, and he fell off of Arthur.

Arthur fled, Merlin calling his name. He was about to burst out of the clearing when Merlin leapt on him again, singing as loud as he could with all of his might, the pink mist of peace engulfing Arthur through his terrified yelps and thrashes.

When Arthur woke from his peaceful daze, he looked around for Merlin. The boy was nowhere in sight. His bag lay next to Arthur.

Frantic, Arthur looked around. “ _Merlin?!”_ he called, scrambling to his feet, panic rising in his chest.

“I’m here,” Merlin called from across the clearing. He was leaning on his tree. He waved to Arthur, clutching his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, quickly gathering Merlin’s bag. He sensed something was wrong in the air. He had not realized what he had did, for when he was in the grasp of strong emotions, he rarely remembered what happened when he was dosed.

Merlin nodded, grinning rather forcedly. Arthur was instantly at his side, looking down at Merlin’s hands. They were covered with blood, drips of the scarlet fluid running down his arm.

Arthur pulled Merlin’s hand away, his eyes wide. “It’s nothing, Arthur,” Merlin hissed, yanking himself away. Arthur caught sight of teeth marks in Merlin’s flesh before the warlock put his hand back on it.

Arthur brought his hand up to his mouth. He pulled his hand back, and there was blood on it. He was not in pain, so it wasn’t his.

“Did I do this?” He asked, looking at Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin said nothing. He glared at the ground in front of him, his eyes livid.

“Merlin…” Arthur said, trailing off.

“You know what?” Merlin snarled unexpectedly, “Sometimes you really _are_ an animal!” He spat out, sharp teeth bared. He huffed, and looked back at the ground, his knees up to his chest.

Arthur was horrified. He swallowed, tasting blood in his mouth. He shook violently, and didn’t know where to look. He felt his blood leave his face. He had never heard Merlin yell before. It was so wrong, so _unnatural._

“Biting! _Really, Arthur?_ What are you, some kind of uncivilized _freak?!_ Damnit all!” Merlin snarled, shuffling away. Arthur shied away like a puppy that had been hit. He felt awful. He watched silently as Merlin paced around the tree, a stormy expression on his face.

“Merlin, I-I-I didn’t mean it,” Arthur whispered, crowding close to the tree, not looking at Merlin. His friend was pacing around in a way he was not wont to do. Though Arthur understood why he was angry, he still didn’t want Merlin to be mad.

Merlin looked down at him. He took a deep breath, and sighed. His shoulders sank, and he tramped back to the tree. Flopping down, he leaned his head on the bark. His eyes closed, and his Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed. Arthur watched as his muscles in his neck moved as he breathed calmly.

“It wasn’t your fault, Arthur,” Merlin sighed. “You were under terror’s influence; people who are terrified try their hardest to escape whatever is scaring them, even if that means causing physical harm,”

He looked down. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I get angry when I’m in pain,” he muttered, clearly feeling guilty himself.

Arthur hastily dug around in Merlin’s bag. He pulled out Morgana’s water bottle. He crouched down beside Merlin, and uncorked it. With his teeth that felt so sinful in his mouth, he tore at the cloth of his shirt until a rag was formed.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked, his voice tight. Arthur could tell that he was in deep pain.

“Hold still,” said Arthur, pouring the water onto the cut. Merlin winced, allowing Arthur to clean his wound.

“Merlin, we should stop this,” he said.

“No,” Merlin responded simply.

“But look what I did! Look at how this is affecting you!” Arthur cried out, guilt washing over his heart as he saw the pained expression on Merlin’s pale face.

Merlin breathed deeply through his nose, He looked over at Arthur, a crooked grin on his face.

“No, Arthur. Do you realize how much this is affecting _you?_ ”

Arthur didn’t say anything, pouring water on Merlin’s bloodied hands and cleaning them.

“Weeks ago, you wouldn’t feel anything if you had bit me. In fact, if I hadn’t given you guilt the moment after I had calmed you down after you tried to throttle me, I doubt you would have felt any kind of remorse.” Merlin said, still looking at Arthur.

Arthur stared. “Of course I would!” he said loudly. How could Merlin say such a thing? Didn’t Arthur regret that moment every night as he lay trying to fall asleep, listening to Merlin and Hunith’s regular, even breathing?

Merlin shook his head. “You wouldn’t. But look at you now!” he said. He beckoned to Arthur’s gentle hands cleaning his wound.

“You care so much now, Arthur. I’ve seen how you’ve changed, how you’ve matured. The way you let the children play with you, the way you treat my mother and Gaius, the way you treat everyone. I’ve seen you grow, I’ve watched you become the kindest man I’ve ever known.” Merlin breathed.

Arthur still didn’t say anything.

“Arthur?”

Arthur looked at him, still drowning in his guilt.

“…Do you really think so?” he whispered, putting down the bloodied rag and tearing off another.

“I _know_ so, my friend,” Merlin said, his forgiving smile making a shiver of relief run through Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, flopping down beside him, he head hanging, heart aching.

“It’s alright. I probably would’ve done the same thing if I was in your position. My bite would hurt more, mind, because of my teeth,” Merlin said, putting a reassuring arm around him and tapping one of his four, long canines.

Arthur laughed. “Really?” he asked, amazed. He could never imagine Merlin biting someone.

“Yes. Fear makes us all the same, regardless of our emotional control, intelligence, kindness, or lack thereof.” Merlin said.

“You’re being accidentally wise again,” Arthur said, smiling softly. He was reassured when Merlin smiled back.

“It appears so. Come on, we have more work to do.”

Next came anxiousness. Anxiousness was a mist as white and icy as snow. It chilled Arthur to the very bone when it engulfed him. It was the most horrible feeling he had ever experienced. Under its influence, every chirping bird was a harping bird of prey, every swish of grass was a venomous snake winding towards him, every tree hid a murderer, and every movement Merlin made would make his heart stop and the Deity would die right in front of him. It felt like he was about to fall out of a chair, or like he had missed a step when walking down a set of stairs.

He looked at Merlin, his brain flushed.

_What is he’s still mad at me for biting him? I know he said it’s alright and that it’s not my fault, but what if he’s secretly still mad? What if he actually hates doing this emotional training? What if he’s annoyed by me? What if he wants me to go back to the City?_

He breathed faster and faster, shallower and shallower. Tears began to leak out of his eyes. _What if, what if, what if?_ His thoughts raced, and his heart began to pound. Shivering, he shied away from Merlin, making noises of pain as his fingers and nose began to tingle. He didn’t know it, but he was hyperventilating.

“Merlin…!” He gasped, his heart racing faster and faster. Was Merlin _killing_ him?!

Merlin hurried over. “Breathe, Arthur! Breathe deeply, in and out, in, and out…”

It took Arthur a long time to calm down. His fingers numb and his face starting to tingle, he shivered through it. He felt like his entire world was crashing down around his ears, wondering if Morgana was alive, if Merlin hated him or not, or if Uther still wanted to kill him.

What seemed like an eternity later, Arthur was breathing steadily, and his eyes were dry. A frown on his face, he felt a numbing exhaustion. His eyes hurt, and he had a headache. He was limp, and didn’t want to move. A terrible ache resided in his chest. He let out a huge sigh.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” Merlin murmured into his hair, cuddling him closer. “I didn’t realize that you would react so deeply.”

Arthur nodded, too tired to speak. He didn’t realize how draining anxiousness could be. He closed his eyes, and rested his head on Merlin’s collarbone, his fingers absently tracing the warlock markings on his chest. He felt Merlin rest his chin on his head, and again he heard the familiar heartbeat and he noises of Merlin swallowing and breathing.

“Anxiousness sucks,” Arthur grumbled.

He felt Merlin’s Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. “Yes. But you had a major form of it. You just had an anxiety attack,” he said.

Arthur felt cheated. “…So anxiousness is a lot less worse than that? I’m just…hypersensitive to it?”

Merlin didn’t say anything at first. “ I guess,” he said, nosing Arthur’s hair to quiet him. He didn't want Arthur to linger on it.

They lay there in silence for a while. Arthur didn’t notice the beauty of the forest anymore; a great feeling that everything was lost was seeping through his body. He pressed closer to Merlin, as if he was afraid the Deity was going to disappear beneath him.

“Are you up for one more, or do you want to go home?” Merlin asked softly.

“Will it be as bad as anxiousness?” Arthur grumbled.

Merlin shook his head, and Arthur heard him grab his bag, the bottles within clinking. “No. It’s the emotion I prescribe for people suffering from anxiety.”

Arthur sat up, his head pounding. His eyes felt heavy and swollen, and his lips stuck out in a sad frown. His legs still tangled with Merlin’s, he watched as the other dug through the bag.

He made a satisfied noise when he pulled out a small bottle filled with a blue emotion. It was a quarter empty. Merlin shook it, and it stirred. It became a vibrant blue, swirling around calmly.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, producing his own curiosity.

“This,” Merlin said, popping off the cork, “is hope.”

“Hope.” Arthur repeated. He held out a tentative hand as the blue mist swirled out of the little bottle. It caressed his hand like a calming embrace, and it swirled around him in a comforting way. He felt a calmness overcome him, and he willingly breathed deep.

The first thing he thought of when the hope coursed through him was Morgana. Until then, he thought for sure that she would be lost. Now, he began to think otherwise.

_Maybe Morgana will be like me._

Maybe his sister would get Corrected, and that would be all well and good. For many years, she might be just like Ygraine and Uther, the perfect child, the little lady. And maybe, as she grew older, the Correction would wear off, just like Arthur’s. Maybe she too would lay awake at night, wondering why she was crying, feeling sadness and loneliness and not knowing what it was, knowing only that it was awful. Maybe she too would look at the doors on the great stone walls that led Outside, and wonder what the sun felt like. Maybe she would remember her older brother, and follow in his footsteps!

He looked at Merlin, whose smile was returning as he absently herded the rest of the Hope back into its bottle. Look at his face! He _had_ to have forgiven him for biting. Maybe Merlin didn’t hate him after all. No! Of course he didn’t! Why would he ease Arthur through his suffering if he hated him? Why would he have picked Arthur up from the creek when he was sick if he thought he was repulsive?

Arthur laughed shakily. He felt so good, as if hope had completely erased the anxiety. He blinked, staring at Merlin, mesmerized. Maybe Merlin _would_ be able to help him unlock all of his Warm Emotions!

“Well?” Merlin asked, his smile returned.

Arthur flung his arms around Merlin’s neck, hugging him tight. His heart was glowing in happiness and relief. He buzzed happily as Merlin hugged him back.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered in Merlin’s ear, thanking him for undertaking the huge task of Warming him, for staying with him even though he was like an animal, for offering him houseroom, for taking him under his wing, for being his first and only true friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is a pony, pass it on  
> Thank you all for the support! It's you that keeps me writing, as well as a way to avoid thoughts about the inevitability of death BUT MOSTLY IT IS YOU.   
> As always, feel free to message me with your questions, comments, or requests! (One of these days I'm going to change a minor detail about that sentence and see if any of you notice or maybe I just did who knows)


	14. Where the Sun Goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh you know just some bros gazing into the sunset in an entirely bro way mhmm yes *sips tea and polishes monocle in a heterosexual fashion*

One day, Merlin asked Arthur what his favorite emotion was so far.

They had just completed a day’s worth of training. Since his ordeal with anxiousness, Arthur had been subjected to paranoia, grief, ecstasy, disappointment, regret, empathy, and many more. There was a lot to chose from.

Even though they weren’t walking, they were still holding hands. They were leaning against the base of Merlin’s oak, Merlin facing west and Arthur facing southwest. The rays of the setting sun lit up each other's faces.

“I like…hope the best,” Arthur concluded.

“Why?”                                

Arthur scratched at the stubble on his chin. The Deities did not have razors, so he usually refrained from shaving until he had a fully fledged beard, for he wasn’t good at using knives to shave yet.

“I don’t know…It makes me realize that anxiety can’t keep me down and...stuff…” he said.

He saw Merlin nod. “And it helps you when you miss Morgana, right?”

Arthur was quiet. What he knew to be grief and sadness hit him. He swallowed, and nodded. He missed her, even though he knew she was incapable of missing him back.

“It does,” he agreed.

Merlin hummed.

“I like hope too,” he said.

“It helps with your Father?”

He felt Merlin stiffen. They had spoken of Merlin’s father, Balinor, once or twice. Merlin didn’t like talking about him just as much as Arthur didn’t like talking about Morgana.

“Yes,” Merlin said.

There was a lengthy pause.

“Merlin?”

“Arthur?”

“…How come you’ve stuck with this?”

Merlin turned to look at him. “What d’you mean?” he asked.

Arthur shifted to face him. “This whole emotional training thing. I know how it’s hard on you too,”

Merlin’s eyes widened in…panic? Why was he scared?

Arthur went on. “I mean, this is time consuming for you. You could be doing other things. And it tires you too, I know it does. You’re just as drained as I am when we go home. And…”

He trailed off.

“And what?” Merlin said softly.

Arthur swallowed, and looked up.

“Did you ever have doubts? Did you ever think I couldn’t be converted?”

Merlin’s mouth thinned, and he pulled a concentrating expression. He leaned his head on the tree, and looked up at the leaf roof above them. Arthur waited patiently for him to weigh his words, growing a little uneasy.

“There were times…when I thought you’d never be able to produce your own emotions… that’d you’d need me to constantly remind you of them…” Merlin said slowly, “But I no longer possess such doubts.”

Arthur blinked. “Why not?”

“Because of how you felt whenever I saw you hold Morgana’s water bottle, or whenever you thought of her. You are very expressive now, Arthur, and I know you well enough to know when you're thinking of her. Long after I taught you sadness and grief, you displayed those emotions. Because you care about your sister so much, I had hope.” Merlin murmured quietly.

Arthur looked at the Deity, the eyes he once found so alarming he now found to be so calming and beautiful. They were staring blankly at the ground, but when they felt Arthur looking at them, they flickered over to meet his gaze.

“I thought that I was too late, that you were too far gone,” Merlin continued, “But someone with a heart like yours, Arthur, is never too far gone. Kindness and emotion such as yours can never be extinguished. It is rare for someone like yourself to go through so much like you did and still care and trust people, especially people like me, people who you had been taught to hate your entire life.”

“…I believe you, Merlin,” Arthur whispered.

“I believe you too, Arthur,” Merlin said, smiling at their own little inside joke.

They sat in peaceful silence, watching the setting sun. A thought popped into his mind.

“One day, when this is all over, I’m going to find where the sun buries itself at night,” Arthur said quietly.

Merlin looked over. “The sun isn’t buried in a hole at night, Arthur, it-”

“Oh, don’t go science on me,” Arthur whined, waving his hand. “Just let me believe I can find it,”

Merlin smiled, and squeezed his hand.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

“Glad to have you.” Arthur responded.

He sighed, and closed his eyes. Peace warmed his guts, and his mind was now at rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! But quantity doesn't mean there isn't any gay.  
> As always, feel free to message me with your questions, comments, and requests!


	15. The Fiery Yellow Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER MAY NOT BE ENTIRELY HETEROSEXUAL  
> Also, my horrific attempts to write flirtations. I am so sorry.  
> AND GUYS I'M SO SAD THERE ARE ONLY TWO CHAPTERS LEFT AFTER THIS *cries*

Their training continued, and Arthur was now well into village life. It had been five months since Arthur first arrived in the village via horseback, dying and afraid. He had grown stronger, both emotionally and physically. He helped Hunith and Merlin in their field, and helped Gaius whenever he could. Every Sunday, they went to Gaius and ate supper. It was a peaceful life, and Arthur felt content in nearly every way.

After hope came many more emotions, so many that Arthur lost track. A few of his favorites were confusion, where he remembered he and Merlin wandering aimlessly around, trying to recall where they were and who each other was. They were about to open a bottle of something fiery yellow when Merlin snapped out of his daze and revived Arthur.

There was also playfulness, where the two had spent many a happy hour tumbling around the clearing together, wrestling in the grass. Arthur often won, because he was stronger than Merlin, but Merlin was fast. He wasn’t sure if Merlin hand't broke out of a daze or he simply didn’t want to stop, for Hunith had to come and find them. The sun had already set and the forest was dark, and she had been worried.

Then one day, Merlin held the fiery yellow bottle in his palm. He was looking at in with apprehension.

“What’s that?” Arthur asked.

“This is lust,” Merlin said, shaking the bottle.

“Ooh, Merlin, why are you carrying around a bottle of _lust?”_ Arthur teased.

“It’s not for me!” Merlin snapped, puffing through his nose at Arthur’s expression. “Sometimes my clients want a little…you know…”

“Just stop there, I’ve heard enough,”

“When I asked you to go through each Warm Emotion you knew," Merlin said in a loud voice, "you said lust was one you never experienced. Oh, shut up! It's very important that you know what this is, so in case you feel a little of it in your mind you won’t act upon it and cause damage,”

Then Arthur became the apprehensive one. “What if I do something damaging when you give it to me?” he asked.

“I’ll climb a tree or something,” Merlin said airily.

“No! What if I like, take a runner to the village and find a-”

“Do you give me permission to stop you at any cost?” Merlin asked, amused.

Arthur nodded. “Should I be nervous?” he asked warily.

“Depends on how you react to this. Who knows, maybe you’re asexual,”

“What’s that?” asked Arthur.

“It’s when you can’t feel sexual attraction. OK, I’m going to open it now, alright? Oh, this isn’t going to end well…”

Arthur huffed exasperatedly. “Then why are we doing it?” he snapped.

“Because I don’t want you to go rape someone, OK? It’s just a precaution…Excuse me while a climb a tree.”

“Oh relax, would you? Maybe you’ve had too much paranoia…” Arthur teased.

“I pride myself as a paranoia free individual, thanks. OK, here goes…”

Merlin uncorked the bottle, looking nervous.

Lust was a yellow mist that felt like steaming, warm water on his skin. It wound around his torso like a snake, tickling his neck as well. He felt warmth spread in his gut as he breathed it in, a little nervous. If Merlin was reacting this way, then this emotion was certainly a powerful one.

Arthur felt his hairs stand on end. The blood pumped wildly in his veins. He felt warmth spread to each cell in his body. His breathing became heavy, and he felt like everything was getting lighter. He felt his fingers quiver, and saliva oozed in his mouth. A fantastic emotion snaked through him.

He looked up at Merlin, who was looking at him with professional interest. He had stashed the bottle of lust back into his bag, and was kneeling in front of him, a little tense but no doubt fascinated.

 _Whatever asexual is_ , Arthur thought, _I am not it._ That feeling exploded in his chest when he looked at Merlin. He began to take notice of certain aspects of Merlin’s appearance, like how his cheekbones were strong and shadowed in the sun, like the way his neck muscles moved smoothly as he breathed. He noticed how quick his tongue was as he licked dry, red lips. He saw that despite his thinness, he had solid muscles on his arms, and that his long fingers moved gracefully over the beads on his bag.

Arthur could practically hear the Deity’s heart rate increase with his own. On all fours, Arthur glided forwards, his eyes staring into Merlin’s odd eyes. Merlin didn’t move.

“…You think _I’m_ the beautiful creature?” he breathed, his lids half closing. His mouth was slightly ajar, and he felt like his limbs were shaking with excitement, “but honestly, you’re the beautiful creature around here,” he purred to Merlin, nuzzling his earlobe.

He didn’t hear Merlin’s response, but he felt him stiffen and heard him swallow as Arthur nosed his neck, breathing heavily. Crouching over Merlin, he mouthed along the Deity’s neck, the feeling inside him egging him on. He couldn’t feel anything expect for Merlin’s pulsating carotid, couldn’t hear anything but his own heavy breathing and Merlin’s scattered ones.

He didn’t know how long he had been overtop of Merlin, pinning him to the tree before he heard the boy talking.

“…Arthur! _Stop!_ ” he shouted.

Arthur blinked, and withdrew, confused. He opened his mouth the speak, but was utterly surprised when Merlin stuffed one of the bottles into his mouth.

Arthur fell back, grunting in surprise as Merlin pinned him down. He looked down, and saw the olive bottle of listlessness in his mouth. He felt the emotion seep through him, and he began to feel chilled inside. Merlin forced him to ingest all of it, not letting him spit out the bottle until he was satisfied.

Finally, Merlin released Arthur, and sat back, his expression unreadable. Arthur sat up, and rubbed his head. He was quite void of any emotion. He stared blankly at the ground, trying to recall what just happened.

“Maybe next time you’ll be able to control yourself, now that you know what it is,” Merlin said from leaning against the tree.

Arthur jerked as if hearing him for the first time. He saw Merlin’s shining neck, and he instantly pieced the puzzle together. He flushed as red as a beet, and staggered backwards, his eyes huge.

“Merlin!” He cried, crushed by guilt and embarrassment. Although he could still feel a lingering cheer in his gut, he never felt so mortified in all his life.

“Arthur, look at me,” Merlin said calmly.

Arthur obeyed, his face still red with his shame.

“You realize it was not your fault, yes?” Merlin murmured, crawling over and sitting beside him.

“I am…I am so…” Arthur said, covering his mouth and goggling at the ground.

“Lust is one of the most powerful emotions that I have. And you pulled yourself out of it as soon as I asked you to stop. That shows that you will not do anything reckless without consent, and that is excellent.” Merlin said, poking Arthur in the shoulder.

Arthur stared at him, flabbergasted. “You’re not mad?” he gasped.

Merlin shook his head. “This proved to me that you are indeed one of the kindest and caring men I know, that you care about people’s wants and needs…but, like…uh…” Merlin said, rubbing his neck.

“Awkward?” Arthur suggested, laughing.

Merlin nodded, shaking with mirth himself.

Moments later, Hunith walked into the clearing, causing them both to jump. They hadn’t even notice that the sun had nearly vanished and that shadows lurked in the forest.

Hunith stopped in her tracks and stared at them. “You two look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” she declared.

Merlin and Arthur exchanged glances, each flushing furiously. _Not a moment too soon, huh?_

* * *

 

Sometimes, if the two felt unwilling to start a new emotion, they went over their favorite past emotions. Arthur was a fiend for hope and happiness. Merlin was the calmer of the two, and preferred peace and laziness. And they both loved playfulness and curiosity.

They spent an entire day with playfulness, a sort of break and reward from all their hard work. Even long after the effects would normally have worn off they continued to play, so happy and comfortable with each other were they. Under the influence, Merlin would tease Arthur about his pony-like qualities, clambering high into trees where Arthur couldn’t reach him, the blonde throwing sticks at him.

Again, either they failed to notice that it was well past supper or chose to ignore it, for Hunith came to look for them again. She came tramping through the forest on the path that was now very well worn, a little grumpy. Third time! Next time, she’d let their suppers get cold…

She was about to open her mouth and call their names when she heard shouts echoing from the clearing. Afraid something was wrong, she began to race towards it, but stopped when she caught a glimpse of the boys through the trees.

Her grumpiness evaporated on the spot and was soon replaced by fondness. Her hands on her hips, she had a smile on her thin lips.

The two teens were wrestling again, one of Arthur’s and soon becoming one of Merlin’s favorite pastimes. To them, it was a time to take a break from their responsibilities and act like kids again. The shouts she had heard were shouts of laughter.

“ _Ow!_ Get off me, you cabbagehead!” Merlin shouted, butting his head into Arthur’s chest and pushing on his stomach. With a puff, Arthur fell back. Hunith saw his sweatshirt and shirt discarded to the side, where they were safe from the dirt and sweat he was accumulating.

“Oi! _Cabbagehead?”_ Arthur shouted indignantly as Merlin pinned him to the ground, “I’ll show you who’s cabbagehead!”and he tossed Merlin aside deftly with his feet and scrambled to pin him before he wriggled away. Merlin was laughing unlike Hunith had heard him laugh before; like he was a child again, like he wasn’t afraid to just be himself. Hunith felt her heart ache happily; Merlin didn’t have many friends, and she was so glad that he had someone like Arthur to open up to like this. She was so glad to see him laugh like this, to see his eyes shining like this, to see him squeeze his eyes shut and squeal with happiness like this.

She watched them for a few minutes longer, feeling like she was trespassing on something sacred if she stopped them before they were ready. She leaned against an oak tree, protected from view by shadows, watching the last of the sun filter into the clearing and listening to the boys’ shouts. These children were, to her, her own sons, for indeed Arthur had carved himself a comfortable niche beside Merlin in her motherly heart.

“Still think I’m a cabbagehead, Merl?” Arthur said, Merlin’s head under his arms and rubbing the warlock’s head vigorously with the palm of his hand. Merlin wriggled, his eyes squeezed shut.

“OW! That hurts, you know!” Merlin said, pushing backwards with all his might. Arthur let out an alarmed grunt, and fell backwards, taking Merlin with him. And suddenly they were still, chuckling between themselves.

Hunith was about to go forward when Arthur sat up, pulling a reluctant Merlin up by the shoulder. He was smiling warmly. Hunith strained her ears to listen to what they said.

“You’re an idiot, Merl.” Arthur said, nuzzling Merlin’s cheek affectionately.

Merlin smiled, pulling up some grass. “Not as much as you are, cabbagehead.” he retorted, butting Arthur back and stuffing the grass in his face.

“ _Look_ at the sun, why don’t you? You supper’s probably gone stone cold by now!” Hunith shouted, walking into view, amused as the two jumped. Her heart teemed with joy, a motherly joy that nothing could ever extinguish. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THAT WAS GAY  
> As always, feel free to message me with any questions, comments, and requests! Thank you all so much! :3


	16. The Emotion No Warlock Can Create

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE GAY WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR

Life in Ascetir with Merlin and his family was truly something out of a dream, Arthur realized. Other than times when Merlin deliberately induced stress during training, or when he was neighing from somewhere out of sight when Arthur was in front of a large crowd of people, Arthur never felt uptight and anxious.

Where in the City would he find children who liked to touch his hair? Where in the City could he find someone to talk to like the girl with the laundry up the street (she knew a surprising amount about horses, so they often had deep conversations. Freya, as Merlin called her, turned out to be quite an interesting character, as he soon found out)? Was there anyone in the city as gruff yet caring and wise as Gaius? Wasn’t Hunith the best mother he had ever had? And wasn’t Merlin the greatest friend anyone could wish to have? And wasn’t the food great? And wasn’t there always fresh water, fresh stories, fresh experiences? Wasn’t this heaven?

But something was lacking. For weeks, Arthur began to take notice of a heavy feeling in his chest. It was like liquid lead was weighing down his heart in a sort of aching, a wanting. He knew it was a Warm Emotion, but he had literally no idea what it could be. It was a sort of nervous happiness. He was afraid to ask Merlin about it, because oftentimes that feeling roared to life whenever he saw the warlock, or heard his voice, or even saw one of his possessions.

And so, he was strangely reminded of the time he spent locked in his room at the City, wondering what he was feeling and being afraid. It made him squirm inside to not be able to ask anyone about this problem here in the village, for there were no secrets here. Everyone carried each other’s burdens. It was odd to not reveal when something was bothering you. Trapped between two cultures, Arthur didn’t know what to do. So he shut up about it, and tried to ignore the feeling.

It was a hard feeling to ignore, and seeing Merlin growing more and more comfortable around him made it only worse. After training sessions, they’d often have in depth conversations, and they’d reveal a tidbit about themselves and was pleased when the other reciprocated. Now, countless months after their first, frosty meeting, Arthur knew Merlin near better than anyone.

One day, they were walking home from training, on time for once. Merlin was chattering as he usually did, talking about anything that came to his mind, no matter how crazy it was. They had both taken a dose of curiosity to annoy Gaius when they got back (why d’you suppose some trees are tall when others aren’t, Arthur?) and Arthur was absently listening. He was thinking about his time in the City.

He tried hard to remember what he felt when he was trapped in the concrete and steel walls of the smoggy urban habitation. Sometimes, it was impossible to remember. He felt so different now, so much better that he couldn’t even imagine being only Cold. He felt so much now; happiness, peace, playfulness, curiosity, they were all second nature to him now.

Other times, not so much nowadays, he would be nearly knocked over by a sudden fit of Coldness. He remembered the first time it happened, about two months back. It was a deep summer night, and he woke up, paralyzed in bed.

He felt a searing emptiness in his chest, his head feeling vague and pointless. He felt irritation at the furs around him, irritation at the crickets and katydids screeching in the night. The moonlight was too bright. He heard Merlin murmur to himself in his sleep. Arthur felt a growl simmer in his chest. _Would he ever stop that muttering? What a distasteful creature!_ Arthur sat up, kicking aside a fur. He glowered at Merlin’s sleeping form on the bed across from him, teeth curled into a grimace.

The look on the warlock's face was peaceful. His eyelashes fluttered as he dreamed, his lips moving softly. Hatred and disgust welled up inside Arthur, and his felt his skin prickle.

And suddenly he would jerk, as if waking from a dream. Horrified, he let out a small gasp. Puffing through his nose, he rubbed his temple. _What had happened?_

“Arthur…?”

Arthur jumped, and saw Merlin’s eyes flicker open. The Deity’s moonlit eyes looked over at him, his expression sleepy yet concerned. His voice was caked with exhaustion and raspy. “Are you alright?” he whispered, rolling over and rubbing his eyes. He stretched, making that little squeaking noise he always did when he stretched like that.

“I’m fine. Just a nightmare,” Arthur whispered hurriedly, leaning forward in an attempt to peer through the curtain into Hunith’s room; she had not woken.

Merlin issued a sleepy grunt of agreement, and Arthur heard his deep even breathing once more. He doubted whether or not Merlin had actually been awake.

Deeply disturbed, Arthur watched the Deity’s face move calmly as he continued to dream. Trying to ignore what just happened, Arthur lay back and fell asleep.

But that was months ago, and the last episode he had had also occurred at night, a week or so after the first one. He had not experienced one since. In fact, he felt entirely different. He felt… _normal._ Didn’t Merlin say they were running out of emotions to teach him? Surely he was almost completely Warm! He had a feeling of anticipation one would feel if one was searching for a treasure and was poised before the locked door that contained the prize, but lacked the key. The prize was complete Warmness, and the key was the Warm Emotion in his chest that came alive when he saw Merlin and he had no name for.

Arthur woke up one morning, and suddenly remembered that today was a training day. He felt a streak of happiness light up his stomach. Disentangling himself from a fur, he looked over to Merlin’s bed; it was empty, the furs neatly back in place.

Arthur got up, his brain still fuzzy with sleep. Yawning, he pushed aside the curtain that separated his and Merlin’s beds from the rest of the house.

Hunith was sitting on a wicker chair, her feet up on a small stool as she did nothing in particular. She looked up when she heard Arthur’s creaking joints. “Good morning, sweetie,” she said, smiling.

“’Morning. Where’s Merlin?” Arthur grumbled, moving towards the cupboard to pull out some bread.

“Having a wash. He should be back soon. And I said I’d help out Gaius today; there’s been an outbreak of a chilling sickness and he needs help.” Hunith said, not looking up.

“Does that mean Merlin and I can’t train?”

Hunith shook her head. “Gaius is giving him the day off,”

Arthur choked on his bread, and Hunith thumped him on the back. “Is he?” he managed to gasp once he swallowed a mouthful of water from the bucket by the door, eyes streaming.

“Yes. Miraculous, isn’t it?”

Arthur turned and saw Merlin walking in. He had a towel around his shoulders, his hair still dripping with beads of creek water. He was wide awake and alert. He smiled at Arthur, and that unknown feeling roared to life.

“Nice boxers,” Merlin remarked, brushing past him and slipping behind the curtain to get changed into something that wasn’t dripping wet.

Once Arthur was fed and both of them were dressed, Arthur and Merlin beat the familiar path to the clearing. Merlin was wearing a shirt, for the summer was ending and autumn was beginning to show its face. Apparently, the trees lost their leaves once the leaves changed from green to yellow red, orange, and brown. (You’re fucking with me, right?) It was difficult to believe.

Arthur shivered in his red sweatshirt, by now throughouly battered and patched after months of roughhousing and general chaos that was normal in Ascetir. He squeezed Merlin’s hand tighter in an attempt to warm his stiff fingers.

“Aw, is the pony cold?” Merlin cooed, looking for Arthur’s reaction.

Arthur hissed. “Yes,” he said grumpily.

Merlin laughed, and moved a bit closer. “Sorry, Arthur, but it only gets worse. Wait until winter…”

“That’s when the white rain falls from the sky, right?” Arthur asked as Merlin looked surprised. “Gaius told me.”

Merlin nodded, and began to tell Arthur about winter, the blonde entirely mesmerized. They walked slowly to the clearing, their path somewhat windy for Arthur was finding it hard to walk straight.

“ _What do you mean ‘there’s no plants in winter’?!’”_ Arthur screeched later, gripping the grass at the base of Merlin’s oak as if he required it to survive, though for a while he certainly did.

Merlin nodded. “I'm not fucking with you,” he said, digging through his bag with a ruckus of clinking glass. He looked at certain bottles, read the labels that Arthur had forced him to make, and put them aside.

“Peace, did that…Contradictoriness, did that…reckon you didn’t need that…”

“Oi,” Arthur snapped sharply.

Merlin shot him a grin, and continued. “Hopelessness, yes…Lust-” He tossed the yellow bottle over his shoulder “-did that…Empathy, happiness, blah, blah, blah!”

He rifled around the bag, tossing aside empty bottles, a pink water bottle, and miscellaneous objects like pretty leaves and rocks Arthur had found, and broken beads. He pulled out the paper list that contained the name of every bad Warm Emotion he did not carry on him that he had given Arthur. He blinked.

Then, an astonishing sentence passed through Merlin’s lips.

“I think that’s all I can teach you, Arthur!”

Arthur looked up from playing with the grass, shocked. His heart leapt into the air, yet he also felt disappointment. Lessons with Merlin was something he anticipated, something he looked forward to. Those hours spent alone with Merlin were hours he enjoyed. Now they were over?

“What?” he spluttered, spreading his shoulders back.

Merlin’s eyes were huge. He nodded, speechless. He ran his hands over the bottles. His jaw dropped, and he brought his hand to his chin. Disbelief shone in his eyes. He let out a shaky laugh, blinking rapidly. He was shaking.

“Merlin!” Arthur breathed, taking the list from Merlin’s quivering hands and putting it in his own. He scanned it, and looked at the Deity’s bottles. On his knees, he moved about frantically.

They stared at each other, mouthing wordlessly. What could they say?

“Arthur!” Merlin whispered excitedly, “We did it!”

He looked at the bottles, and then at the list in Arthur’s hands. His stomach twitched, and his face broke into the biggest grin Arthur had ever seen.

“ _We did it!”_ He screeched, and he threw his head back to scream his joy to the world.

Arthur could scarcely breathe. His limbs were quaking so much, and his heart was beating erratically. That feeling flared to life in Arthur’s stomach like a flame, infused with a wild elixir of ecstasy.

Merlin had a frenzied look on his face. He leapt forward, knocking Arthur flat onto his back. Arthur choked as Merlin’s unexpected weight fell on him. Winded, he gagged on his laughter, eyes shining at the pair above him. They were shining with pride and an almost indescribable happiness.

“How do you feel?” Merlin breathed, looking at Arthur closely.

Arthur sat up. He felt a flicker of nerves in his stomach. His limbs grew shakier, and he felt like his guts were warming up. He rubbed his neck.

Merlin didn’t seem to notice anything. He was far too excited and wild to comprehend anything.

“Oh, Arthur! Don’t you see? This is _wonderful!_ After all this time, all the hours we spent here, all the time we spent unlocking your true self,” he said, looking down as he kneeled on the ground before Arthur.

He giggled like a child. “I’m going to miss these sessions, to be frank, I’ve loved them, and-”

It was like a deafening explosion went off in Arthur’s brain. His breathing hitched, and he instantly felt lightheaded. Merlin was right; he knew the name of every single Warm Emotion. The last Warm Emotion, the Warm Emotion he hadn’t been taught, the Warm Emotion that was the key to being the very sin his father and everyone in the City hated. It was within reach, and all he had to do was ask for it.

“…and now look at you! You have grown so much, and-”

“Merlin!” Arthur gasped, his head reeling with the knowledge he had just brought into the light. He felt like someone was gripping his heart, squeezing it until it burst, tearing at it until it ached with every yearning, every emotion.

Merlin blinked. “Yes?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

Arthur stared at the Deity kneeling before him. When Arthur was a boy, he dreamed of what the Deities would look like. His mind, Cold by day and Warm by night, created the being he thought was to be scorned and hated. He disobeyed his father when he was ordered not to think of the Deities. At night, thoughts racked with curiosity and awe dreamed up images of the creatures so vile and so cruel. They fascinated him.

But he had never been so wrong in all his life. His childhood thoughts, twisted and beaten by the harsh laws and ways of life in the City created a monster, a thing not of dreams but of nightmares. The image his Corrected and numb brain created was nothing but the hatred and the ignorance of his people. For here before him kneeled the pure and untainted image, the grace that sparked the spite, the beauty that engendered the wrath, the truth that spawned the lies. Here before him kneeled the monster of his childhood, here before him kneeled the angel of his life.

Here before him was the healer of his ills, the concern for his wellbeing, the light that drove away his darkness. Here was a being that inhabited the forests and streams, the mountains and the sky. Here was a being that stood by every rule that Arthur now stood by, a being who used words that Arthur now used and savored like honey. Here was a being that was to be respected, to be revered. Here was a being that lived far in the North, in the great Forest of Ascetir. Here was a Deity, the savior of his troubled and broken mind. Here was an angel. Here was the personification of heaven.

“Do you…” Arthur whispered, not meeting Merlin’s gaze. He swallowed.

“Do I what, my friend?”

Arthur breathed deeply and looked up. “Do you have any…any _love?_ ”

For here, kneeling before him was a purveyor of Warm Emotions, a Deity, someone who he did not want to avoid, someone who he did not fear. No, this was someone he _loved._

Merlin sat back on his haunches, his brow furrowed. He placed his hands on his thighs, first scratching his chin. His lips jutted out; he was thinking, thinking hard.

“Love?” he asked.

He sighed, looking towards the leaf roof above again, as if for counsel.

His voice was quiet, so quiet. Arthur had to lean closer to hear.

“Love is the most powerful emotion in our world, Arthur. It is far more powerful than lust. You may think the two are one and the same, but you are wrong. Lust is an emotion I can understand, an emotion I can produce. Love…love is…”

He looked up, and for the first time since Arthur had met him by the creek in the throes of death, the Deity was at a loss to explain to Arthur something. Words just would not pass through his brain. He knew all about love, for all knowledge was at his disposal in his mind. Only his sense of love was numbed over.

He looked at Arthur, who was held spellbound by his voice. “Love is something that I cannot create. You can look at any of these bottles-” he picked up a few of the bottles in Arthur’s lap and dropped them to the side “-can look at this list-” he rolled up the list of the emotions “-and not find love on there anywhere.”

He sighed, and held the last empty bottle in his palm. “There are some things, Arthur, that we must teach ourselves. There is no hand to hold, no voice to listen to as we try to understand that emotion.”

He hung his head. “I am a warlock of great power,” he said, “and I am baffled by that emotion. There is no way for me to magic it into a bottle. Believe me, I have tried.”

He swallowed, and looked up. Arthur felt a deep falling sensation in his chest, and a tingle like a sweat shivered through his skin, for Merlin’s eyes shimmering and blurred in a scrim of tears.

“The amount of times people have come to me, after suffering a loss…” he said, his voice cracking. He clenched his jaw, and inhaled sharply through his nose. “The amount of times mothers who had lost their children…families who had lost their loved ones in hunts, or to sickness…”

His brow furrowed, and he continued in a clear voice. Arthur felt like crying out, for the bravery displayed by someone falling victim to tears was an act so saddening to behold. “…The amount of times I needed…The amount of times my mother…after my Father…” he whimpered, his head bowing once more, his hands dropping uselessly on the ground before him.

Arthur didn’t know what to do. His mind was screaming at him to comfort the warlock, to say something, to do _anything!_ But he was frozen. To see Merlin crumble under the power of emotion was like watching the fell stroke on a warrior.

Merlin shook his head like a weary hunting hound, and one of his hands darted upwards to wipe away a tear.

Incredibly, his voice was still strong, and Arthur felt an overwhelming wave of pride and affection for the young warlock rush through him. He gently took Merlin’s hands, unnerved and hurt by how much they were shaking.

Merlin looked up, cheeks wet. “The amount of times I had to turn them away, Arthur,” he cried out softly, “It’s so…it’s so…”

“Heartbreaking,” Arthur finished gently.

Merlin nodded.

“The times I watched you, Arthur…The times I had to sit aside, knowing I could do _nothing_ to ease your loss…It was almost too much to bear.” He gulped, shaking like a leaf in a chilly autumn wind.

“I knew you were suffering. I could hear you sniffling at night and I knew that you were missing her, and oh, I wanted to help you so much, Arthur!” Merlin cried, choking as he bit back a sob.

Arthur moved forward, enveloping the broken Deity in his arms.

“There was nothing you could do for them, for me, Merlin,” he said quietly into Merlin’s ear, leaning his head against Merlin’s, his eyes closed in sorrow.

“I could’ve at least done _something_ , Arthur…” Merlin whimpered, turning into Arthur’s neck. Arthur could feel his breath on his skin. “You’re my friend,” he whimpered.

“You did do something, Merl,” Arthur said, looking at Merlin sympathetically as he pulled away and sniffed. “You showed me you cared,”

Merlin smiled, looking down as he held Arthur’s wrists like he always did. His face softened, and he let out a quivering breath, swallowing as he felt Arthur’s hands cup his face. He held his wrists, feeling an overwhelming wave of gratitude crash over him when he felt Arthur’s forehead press against his. A warbling feeling in his stomach shone like the sun.

“You showed _everyone_ that you cared,” Arthur continued, blocking out the rest of the world, his words for no one but the being kneeling before him. “You showed that in a world where there was no love to be found, you still possessed a heart that so wanted to shelter everyone from all the pain. But no one can do that alone, Merlin.”

Merlin blinked, looking at Arthur. It was his turn to be held spellbound as Arthur spoke, his voice an audible, liquid, woven tapestry of the truth.

“Sometimes you have to let go of the responsibility, Merl…and let someone else test his heart out for size.” He breathed, and Merlin could not resist as Arthur drew himself closer and closer.

And in a few brief seconds, Arthur’s mind and heart were truly free. Eyes closed so that on the outside they were indistinguishable from the other, Arthur and Merlin did not make any noise…but if one were to listen, they could hear their hearts beating as if drugged by a shot of raw joy.

One had a past tainted by Coldness, and had been given new life by the other with a future as bright as the emotion that flowed between them from their connected lips for the first time. The other had a heart that lived purely to aid, and in those moments that city boy and village warlock met in the closest embrace, not one heart was revived, but two. What was Cold was made Warm, what was broken was mended.

Though wounds as deep as theirs could not be healed with one kiss, it was a start. Eyes closed, they listened to the other breathe, feeling a warm mist of exhalation on their lips that were still brushing at the tips.

Arthur was the first to open his eyes. Merlin, eyelashes still wet with tears, followed soon after.

Arthur looked down at their hands, Merlin’s fingers still wrapped around his wrists, his own fingers having slid down from Merlin’s face to his chest. He coaxed Merlin’s fingers to lay out flat. Merlin’s forehead was warm against his own, and their noses touched as Merlin looked down as well.

His own fingers, nails as pink as his flesh, intertwined with Merlin's pale, calloused fingers with nails as black as night. Locked together like the pieces of a forgotten puzzle, they stared at each other’s held hands.

“…Because if you don’t have any love…” Arthur murmured, his voice hoarse, “…I have some to spare.”

Merlin nodded slightly, his lips pursed into a smile. His vision was swimming like a lost fish, and he was almost overpowered for his affection and gratitude for the boy, once so distrusting and hurt as to not let Merlin go near, kneeling before him, yearning for his touch, the touch only a true Warm could ever feel. At once, Merlin knew that Arthur was truly, completely alive.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Arthur’s once more, lost under the spell of the emotion that had mystified him for so long. Eyes closed, he felt Arthur wrap him arm around his back, pulling him close to his chest. Opening his mouth occasionally to breathe, Merlin willingly lost himself in Arthur’s embrace.

Pulling away after a dazed period, Merlin did not open his eyes to offer his consent. Nuzzling Arthur’s earlobe he opened his mouth and whispered

“Yes, please,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screeches hideously* IT'S HAPPENED, THEYRE IN LOVE *throws table out of window* OH SO IN LOVE *destroys laptop* SOOOOO INNN LOOOVVVEE *melts into gay feelings*
> 
> One more chapter guys! Noooooooo. 
> 
> BUT I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE!!!!! ARE YOU READY??
> 
> THE GAY WILL CONTINUE IN THE SEQUEL TO THE DEITY'S BOTTLES!! YAAAAAY  
> Many of your questions, like 'what happened to Morgana?' for example, will be answered in the sequel. As we embark on a journey about the city boy and the village boy trying to navigate their way through a relationship we will wonder what fate awaits Morgana Pendragon...
> 
> GRANTED, I HAVE NO IDEA WHEN THE SEQUEL WILL BE POSTED, I HAVE OTHER WRITING REQUESTS I MUST FINISH FIRST but it will happen!
> 
> So, thoughts on a sequel? Let me know in the comments! Thank you lovelies, for sticking with me and my little lovers! You are all wonderful.


	17. The Tale of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS THE BRIDGE INTO THE SEQUEL
> 
> THE STORY TECHNICALY ENDS IN CHAPTER 16
> 
>  
> 
> PLEASE READ THIS SUMMARY IT IS IMPORTANT
> 
>  
> 
> DON'T SKIP IT
> 
> I'M MAKING IT THIS LONG SO YOU'LL NOTICE IT
> 
>  
> 
> NOTICE IT, SENPAI
> 
> AND ALSO NOTICE THE END NOTES, SENPAI

So you thought you could skip the summary, huh? WRONG.

Friendly reminder that this chapter isn't apart of the story. The story of the two gay dorks ended last chapter. This chapter is a bridge into the sequel, so disregard this chapter if you a) want to savor the gay or b) you are not interested in a sequel. Thanks! This chapter officially begins under the line below.

* * *

 

There is a Tale, a Tale that is as pure as the petal of a dew-glossed rose shining in the light of the moon. It is the blank canvas of the Tale of the Deities that plagued the City and gave Arthur Pendragon the encouragement he needed when his hour of need came into the light. It is the innocence of the soul before it is slashed and ripped, torn apart by lies, anger, and crimes of hate.

Before the inhabitants of the City were determined to deny the existence of Warm Emotions, there was a Tale that was told to all children. It was lost, marred and maimed to a state so that it was unrecognizable. Chipped away, smashed, cracked, and destroyed by the City in which Arthur Pendragon was so eager to escape, whatever was left of it was turned into the Tale of the Deities.

Before, it was a Tale of Love, and it went like this.

‘Warmth was born in the land of the chilly wind and harsh winters. It was born of the forests and streams, of the mountains and sky. It was nothing like its twin, born in the land of balmy hazes and humidity. Cold was born of the earth and the air, the life and the mind.

‘They differed in every way. Warmth stood by every rule Cold outlawed, and Cold used words that Warmth considered to be vile and a disgrace to the sky, streams, forests, and mountains where she was born. They were everything the other was not.

‘But they shared a single thing. It was not a sense of live and let live, it was not a nod of respect. It was the most powerful emotion that binds us all, an emotion that is neither Cold nor Warmth’s to claim.

‘That emotion, was Love. Love alone was the reason Warmth and Cold needed one another, for without the other, they are nothing. Cold knows nothing of the world without looking to Warmth as an example. Warmth does not know how to act if Cold is not present. They need each other, like mother and infant.

‘Cold and Warmth are the origins of all things. Each of them are in all of us. We need them both to survive. A creature to live stripped of one or both of the emotions is damned to a life of emptiness, of ignorance, of a kind of peace they never know they are experiencing.

‘Just as Cold and Warmth need each other to live, we need Love. Love is what binds us together, Love is the remedy to all ills. Love is the only factor that can heal the sick, make fixed the broken, and make connected the different.

‘Love is something to be respected, and revered. It is nothing to fear. Embrace it, and feel the blessings of Cold and Warmth alike course through you like the sky and the streams, the earth and air, the forest and the mountains, the life and the mind.’

* * *

 

There is a Tale that deep in the Forest of Ascetir kneels two boys. One was the pure offspring of Cold, a boy damned to a life of emptiness, ignorance, and unknowing peace, resuscitated by the very offspring of Warmth, a boy with great responsibility resting on his shoulders.

The burden grows heavier and heavier, for the boys realize that Cold and Warmth have been separated for too long. Warmth has spent too much time in her home far in the north in the Forest of Ascetir, longing to be with her brother, who has trapped himself in a City of concrete and steel, shying away from his sister.

But the two boys, they have discovered the common ground. As they kneel upon the earth, they explore that feeling that not even the warlock can produce, that feeling called Love. For as they speak silent words through connected mouths, they bring Warmth and Cold one step closer, and they bring the world one step closer to a balance that it enjoyed long and long ago, when the Tale of Love was as untarnished as the pure emotion shared between the two beings expressing their love deep in the Forest Ascetir among a band of Deities, the purveyors and guardians of Warm Emotions.

And in that sacred gesture shared between those boys, Warmth and Cold were brought together, stealing a glance at one another, each sparing a thought for the other, close contact that would last long enough for Love to reign.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CASUAL REMINDER THAT THIS CHAPTER IS A BRIDGE INTO THE SEQUEL. IT'S A BIT OF A 'TO BE CONTINUED'. IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, WELL *shrugs* 
> 
> BUT WE ARE DONE!!! WHOOP WHOOP
> 
>  
> 
> For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I got this idea from a post on Tumblr saying stuff like 'what if emotions could be bottled' and I twisted it into this Merthur fic. It's not the greatest, I know, but I'm trying. Thank you all for your support, and feel free to message me with you questions, comments, and requests!


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